Mohammed and Camila

So the last time I’d met with Mohammed was before Spring Break. Time kinda slipped away from me as the end of the semester flew by. And now it’s almost the last week of classes. We certainly had a lot of catching up to do.

Mohammed and I met in our usual place at the TCU Bookstore Starbucks. It was a fairly hot Thursday evening – especially since my home town in Illinois usually has forty-degree weather this time of year – with high winds and some humidity. I forwent the usually coffee and just got an ice water. On this occasion, Mohammed, knowing I’m a Spanish major, brought along his friend Camila, an ESL student at TCU originally Bogotá, Colombia. She was quiet and timid at first, but as we chatted more she seemed to loosen up more. We spoke Spanish and English together, however English more so as not to exclude Mohammed. I used Spanish mostly to clarify things for her.  She said the thing most different between Colombia and Texas is that we have seasons here. It’s generally just hot and humid tropical weather in Colombia. Also, everything here is really spread out compared with Bogotá. It’s the largest city in Colombia and everything was in walking distance for her. She says the people here are also much friendlier.

Sooner or later, we got to the usual topic of soccer, and, after the important Semifinal matches the day before, there was no shortage of substance for discussion. Two days before we met was the Barcelona, Chelsea match, in which Chelsea triumphed as the underdogs. On the Wednesday before we met (during Lit & Civ), the match between Bayern Munich and Real Madrid took place, with another loss for a Spanish powerhouse team.

The Potbelly across University from the Bookstore is visible from the window adjacent to the table we sat at. Several weeks ago Mohammed asked what it was like. Since then, he’s tried it, and half-jokingly wants to open one back home in Saudi Arabia.

33,19,17

Jeez. I was not expecting the final short story to be a long one. I scrolled down to survey how extensive it actually was after seeing the miniscule scroll bar to the right of my interwebz window. However I decided I would turn off my dubstep music and buckle down to read the whole story.

The first part, all of the descriptiveness, was rather dry in my opinion. After the action got underway, I couldn’t get images of characters from Grease and The Outsiders out of my head.  I pictured Arnold Friend as one of the guys from the bad gang in Grease, the ones that get in the car crash in the end.  I didn’t realize the story was going to end up being so dark, and it was kind of shocking once Arnold became serious. It started out innocently enough, just a story about a girl slightly rebellious teen girl going around town with her friends. However the ending and events that transpired with Arnold and Ellie were a pretty dark contrast from the beginning. I read up on the background story and it turns out Joyce Carol Oates was inspired to write it by a series of articles in Life magazine about serial killers in Tucson, Arizona. I read this, and it totally solidified an ending to the story for me.

One of the most unique things in the short story was Arnold Friend’s gold convertible. It sounds like such an interesting car to see, especially with all of the paint, decals, and curious writing all over it. This, coupled with what I imagined to be a sort of sad-eyed side kick, boombox held on his shoulder, sitting in the back seat completely dejected, created a very picturesque idea in my head.

A Briton in America ca. 1950

Relocation can be a difficult time in a person’s life. Adapting to new surroundings can be a difficult and trying task: there are new cultural norms, new taboos, and new people. In 1946, Leonard McCombe moved from Liverpool, England, to New York City, at the age of 23. This is the age around which men are forced into the adult world, having to leave their childhood or young-adulthood behind.

This was not easy for McCombe, especially having to start a career in an entirely new country across an expansive “pond.” He recalls, “the summer light gave a continual headache…The heat was infernal. People got drenched without moving. Tension showed in twisted hands and peeled nail polish.” For him, dealing with the post-war temperament wasn’t easy either, McCombe writes “Something irritated me most of the time: the constant speed, the aggressive nasal whine, the wet heat, the bitter squint of the crowd, the assembly-line look of American life and the new crisis every hour…I’d stretch out on my bed and try to recall a friendly moment during the day. There wasn’t any.” Generally, he found America unreceptive, however he caught a glimpse of home that sparked his perseverance when he saw the Queen Mary in the Hudson River.

McCombe took up a job as a photographer for Life magazine, and the experiences of traveling across the country changed his outlook on this new world. He was amazed how easily he could photograph figures like “gangster czar” Frank Costello, or even President Truman. He was amazed by the American West, saying, “I like the natural life of the cowboys. It delighted me to see them working and to see horses running around unfettered.” A remarkable event he experienced was when he gave a single cigarette to a Navaho, and her reaction and their conversations revealed to him that “America’s history stretched away back beyond England’s.”

After 7 years of hard work and good moral standing, McCombe received a letter that acknowledged him as a citizen of the United States. 

Crazy Cat Lady of Mango Street.

I was fairly interested when I picked up Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street. It seems startling short for such a critically acclaimed novella. However I realized that its brevity is part of what makes it such an iconic book. Along with that, Latin American authors are some of my favorite writers.

One of the best parts of this novella for me is that Cisneros tells her vignettes with sparse and concise diction. She says exactly what needs to be says without any flowery language. It almost seems Hemingway-esque, mixed with the story telling of Gary Soto, who I remember reading often in elementary school. Despite the minimal amount of words, Cisneros gives vivid descriptions of the House and its surroundings, along with the people who live there. (Another contributing factor to my interest in this book is the fact that it’s set in Chicago).

One of my favorite things about this book is the extensive list of characters, all of whom are believable despite some brief entrances and departures in Esperanza’s life. Darius is a prime example of these characters. He is only mentioned in one, but he provides insight for the children by pointing out that one of the puffy clouds is God. Then, on the other hand, there are other, central, non-familial characters like Rachel, Lucy, and even Cathy, Queen of Cats. That name alone is a great part of the book for me (she has cats and cats and cats: I imagine she will end up like this one day).

An interesting aspect that Cisneros focuses on is the nature in the story. Whether it’s the animals: Cathy’s cats, Meme’s dogs, or the scarcity of butterflies; or the world: Eskimos’ 30 names for snows, the lack of clouds, or the lack of vegetation or a yard apart from municipally planted elm trees. It provides a glaring contrast to the sprawling urban jungle that is the south side of Chicago.     

My Favorite Books

When asked what my favorite book is, I don’t think I’ve ever given a definitive or concrete answer. I’ve don’t think I’ve ever read a book that I truly consider my favorite. This doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy books. I just believe that, for me at least, so far, there is no one book that entirely stands above the rest. While there are some books I’ve read (like the works of J.R.R Tolkien or J.K. Rowling) that are incredibly entertaining and enjoyable, I don’t consider them my favorites. I’d say I have several favorites, maybe even a top 5 list, listed in no particular order.

1.       Less Than Zero – Bret Easton Ellis. It is a dark tale of rich teenagers in Los Angeles and Beverly Hills during the 1980s. It’s a portrait of one boy’s, Clay’s, distance from his former friends after returning from his first semester away at college, and the misadventures in  the 90210 night life. It is written in stream-of-consciousness first person narration that accurately depicts the way teenagers think. Even 27 years after it was written is the mentality of invincibility and careless that the characters exhibit still prevalent. Also, it was made into a mediocre movie with Robert Downey Jr. as the Clay’s wayward friend Julian. And the sequel that came out 26 years later with Clay as a grown man was pretty good too.

2.      A Clockwork Orange – Anthony Burgess. Written in the 1960s, it is a Cold War vision of a dystopian future England where gangs of teenagers rule the night and partake in vandalism and “ultraviolence.” It focuses on Alex, a charismatic teenage gangster who ends up in jail after a crime spree gone wrong. The novel is written in three parts, showing Alex’s transformation and (technically) coming of age. It could actually fit into the curriculum of Literature and Civilizations II, however it is very graphic in its depiction of rape and murder scenes. For the book, Burgess created an entire set of slang, called Nadsat (teenage-speak). It is initially a difficult read, but once the reader picks up on the language it is not too difficult aside from the subject matter. Also made into a film adaptation by iconic director Stanley Kubrick. 

3.      The Broom of the System – David Foster Wallace. Better known for his magnum opus Infinite Jest, Wallace writes about an eccentric young woman, Lenore Stonecipher Beadsman, from an eccentric family, whose mental search for identity and love coincides with the physical search for her missing Great Grandmother. While highly philosophically and psychologically engaging, discussing the importance or triteness of words, it is also largely satirical. It has a wide array of strange characters, including Lenore’s boyfriend, who is a short story editor for a journal who lives vicariously through his own failed works of fiction, and her parakeet, (Count Vlad the Impaler,) that can only recite Bible verses.

4.      All the Pretty Horses/The Crossing – Cormac McCarthy. I’m lumping these two books together because, although centered on different characters in somewhat different settings, they are part of a series and very similar in nature. ATPH is about a boy who runs away from with his best friend to Mexico on horseback and ends up finding work there, along with forbidden love. The Crossing is about a boy (named Billy) and his brother who try and return a lone wolf that was terrorizing their ranch back to Mexico. They return home to find their ranch destroyed by Indians, and follow them to Mexico where Billy’s brother becomes a revered outlaw, a Robin Hood-esque figure. McCarthy’s style of writing and descriptive nature of the Texan and Mexican countryside make these into modern Romantic novels.

5.      The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams. In one of the funniest books I’ve ever come across, Adams tells the story of a man, Arthur Dent, who flees Earth with his long-time friend (secret alien Ford Prefect, named after the car) and is thrust into the weird and wild world that is outer space. They encounter the former President of the Galaxy, who travels in a ship of infinite improbability, in which anything can happen. Adams uses poignant satire with creative science fiction, along with a quick narrative pace making it an easy read. Don't Panic.

Lost.

WARNING: THIS BLOG ENTRY MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS.

Six years of my television-watching life were dedicated to one show. Sure I’d watch other programs in between the times it aired or between seasons, but nothing has ever held my attention and wonder in a stranglehold the way Lost has.

To the outsider, it seems like a religion. To the viewer, it practically is. So much happens that each episode poses more questions and answers fewer.

I didn’t start at the very beginning. Because I was busy as a middle school student it was difficult to be watching TV all the time looking for new shows. However, I started at the beginning of the second season, and immediately caught myself up with the first season. These were some of the greatest episodes of the show. They explored the human condition when foisted into a scenario of panic and survival. However, (and this is by no means a bad thing) the island began to prove enigmatic: there were other, prior inhabitants of the island; a constant French distress signal saying “it killed them all” had not been answered for 16 years; some sort of behemoth (presumably what killed “them”) roamed the jungle; a hatch labeled “quarantine” with a single window was buried in the jungle; there were ruins of a scientific facility from the 1970s; a mysterious figure named Jacob supposed ruled the island; the island had peculiar scientific properties, specifically electromagnetic anomalies.

Damon Lindelof and J.J. Abrams did a fantastic job of keeping viewers enthralled and coming back for more. It was the perfect combination of drama and, to some extent, science fiction or fantasy. There was a wide enough array of characters on a flight from Sydney, Australia to Los Angeles that it created entertaining social conflict. There was good and evil inside of each character. Everyone had a favorite character, whether it was the quintessential "good-guy" Jack Shephard, the grizzly scoundrel Sawyer, or my personal favorite Charlie Pace, the bass-wielding rockstar (who also happened to be a hobbit). Everyone had their theories too: there was nearly infinite room for debate. The next day after an episode aired everyone would be buzzing about the show and what they thought happened.

Basically the only negative thing I have to say about the show is the 6^th and final season. It jumped the shark in many ways. It was a cop out to cheaply resolve the story and answer many questions that persisted through the series. Other than this one quarrel, Lost is my favorite TV show, and the only TV show that has ever made me cry.
Also, some of the most memorable lines of the show. 

WAAALT!!! 

Slappin da bass mon!

My brother is extraordinarily musically endowed. He picked up the trumpet in 4^th grade, the guitar in middle school, currently attends the prestigious Eastman School of Music at the University of Rochester to study trumpet performance, and will be attending Yale for graduate studies in the field of ethnomusicology (basically an anthropological and sociological study of music). In middle school, he was focused more on guitar than trumpet, but he is nearly virtuosic on both instruments. This story is not about him, however.

John is three years older than me, and has always been the image of “cool” in my eyes. So, as a 5^th grader who played the trombone, yet wanted to emulate his cooler, rock-star older brother, I wanted to put aside the ultra-lame trombone and learn how to play the bass guitar:  the more mysterious, less glamorous, but still-necessary cousin of the guitar.

The experience of receiving this amazing gift is still picturesque in the reels of my memory: it was a cold and overcast spring day (weather not reflective of my mood, however), the Friday of our spring break. That morning, my mother, brother and I drove from our town of Libertyville down to a town closer to Chicago, Schaumburg, to meet up with my dad and get lunch at Maggiano’s Little Italy. I had lasagna there, and relished it. It was raining as we drove back on the highway. We exited the highway and drove through the downtown of Libertyville which is not the usual way we’d go home. When we got to the music store (aptly named Libertyville Music) my face must have lit up as I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor of the car. Weeks of careful asking and good behavior must have finally paid off.

I got a Fender Starter Kit, which came with a red Squier P-Bass (a cheaper model of the standard Fender Precision Bass,) an amplifier, and a gig bag, along with an instructional video. When we got home, I went to the basement (my boyhood Man-Cave) and proceeded to watch the duration of the 5 hour VHS.

I played bass guitar fairly consistently all the way through high school, acquiring a darkgreen Peavey Fury IV, and an acoustic Ibanez 5-string bass guitar (traditionally they have 4 strings). I did not bring one to TCU so I’ve gotten rusty, but I still love to “slappa da bass mon."

Memories of To Kill a Mockingbird

I first read Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird in the 8^th grade. This time, I read more than 2/3 of it on various airplanes, flying between DFW and Philadelphia and Rochester, New York, on a Friday and Sunday. I flew up to visit my brother in New York and started the book early because I wasn’t planning on reading much over Spring Break. (However, due to a little snafu, my time will no longer be occupied and I will be staying in Fort Worth instead of travelling to Sandestin, Florida.) This book made the whole process of flying (on two big jets and two seemingly feeble smaller jets) much less uncomfortable and helped pass the hours I spent on each, along with the hours I spent in Philadelphia awaiting layovers. (Surprisingly, contrary to the title of the popular TV show, it was sunny neither time I was in Philadelphia.)

 Looking back, I don’t know how I understood much of it. Lee uses employs so man clever innuendos and euphemisms that I know I wouldn’t have gotten as a naïve little 13-year-old. Along with all of the witty word play, there all also many words I know I wouldn’t have known back then, and some I still have trouble defining today. This being said, I remember how much I admired Atticus Finch, for both his demeanor and his name. (I kinda hope to name one of my kids Atticus.) But Atticus is one of my favorite literary characters of all time. He’s just, calm and collected, knowledgeable, and knows how to raise a family.

Again, along with Huck Finn and The Man Who Was Almost a Man I’m not so much averse to the racial slurs and offensive language used, but rather I think it makes the events more believable and the characters more real. Atticus is the exception to the rule in that he’s in a southern town and doesn’t use the N-word, however it makes sense that the majority of the townsfolk do.

Another part of the novel that stood out to me more this time was the chapter involving Jem’s explosion at Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose, and his subsequent punishment. This brief anecdote stuck with me for some reason, and was one of the only parts I remembered from the first time I read the novel. Something about Jem’s initial judgment and then Atticus’s revelation gave me a catharsis that lasted through the years. The only other thing that really stuck with me was Scout’s cute little line when she first saw snow and built a snowman with her brother: “I ain’t ever heard of a n***** snowman, Jem.” This innocent little line was funny to me in 8^th grade that somehow it lasted the years. Also, it may be ingrained in memory because I have no recollection of my first snow; in Illinois it’s a terrible burden from November to April. Oh, the other thing that stuck with me through the years was obviously the moral of judging a man by his character, rather than the color of his skin (or other outward appearance).

Mohammed AND Abdulaziz (#3)

Meeting number 3: This week, instead of just meeting with Mohammed, he brought along his cousin, (whom I was originally paired with but was unable to contact) Abdulaziz. Abdulaziz speaks less English than Mohammed, is 20, and has lived in the US for nearly 2 months. Because of the different calendars, Abdulaziz is 20 by the Arabic or Islamic calendar, and only 19 (with his birthday being tomorrow, March 7^th).

For the first half of our conversation, Abdulaziz was quiet and mostly kept to himself. Mohammed and I talked about his schoolwork. He said one of the most difficult for him was to learn the new alphabet and learn to write from left-to-right, rather than right-to-left in Arabic. Also, he talked about how grammatically he makes the same mistakes consistently, but is definitely improving.

Next, we moved onto the topic of living situations, since he mentioned Abdulaziz lives with him. Next year, he wants to live in either the Grand Marc at Westberry Place or in the new apartments being built on South University across from Kroger.

It would have been helpful to have Brian Trost with me for the following part of the conversation, as he is my go-to source on soccer knowledge. Mohammed mentioned that he and Abdulaziz play soccer with friends on Sunday. Soccer happens to be Abdulaziz’s favorite sport (along with swimming, both of which he did back in Saudi Arabia), and he is an avid fan who follows several leagues closely. Al-Hilal, in Saudi Arabia, is his favorite Soccer Club, however he also follows the English Premiere League closely. We talked about how Arsenal beat AC Milan 3-0 today. We also reminisced about the 2010 World Cup. He enjoys watching Barcelona and Real Madrid, along with Bayern Munich and FC Basel (in Germany and Switzerland, respectively). Overall it was interesting to meet with both of them and gauge their differing levels of English.

The Chuck Norris Experience or Shibblebibblebobenyxgen

Nearly every kid had this dream. However I was actually going to live it out. I was going to be a rock star, nay, a rock god. And what better place to start than my 8^th grade talent show?

My friends and I, The Chuck Norris Experience, had played at the talent show the year before, but this year was going to be for real. In 7^th grade, the show was a disaster: our drummer broke his arm several days before the show, and one of our guitarists never showed up the run-through the day before. So our performance of “Hypnotize” by System of a Down wasn’t the most astounding show ever. To make things worse, as an awkward teenager going through puberty, my crackly voice couldn’t compare to Serj Tankien’s deep baritone. I was an amateur singer at best, but I had played bass guitar since 5^th grade and felt like a virtuoso.

Despite this, we were determined to make this year a success. We dropped the unreliable guitarist, so it was just me on the bass guitar/lead vocals, the same guitarist, and our currently healthy drummer. For our comeback, we even changed our band’s name. We were became Shibblebibblebobenyxgen. (Pronounced shibble-bibble-bobben-yixjen. We had to fill in an application to audition for the show and when we couldn’t think of a name our guitarist just wrote down something nonsensical. It was intended to be unpronounceable). We also changed our style, moving from mainstream rock to covering the Punk stylings of AFI (not the American Film Institute). We carefully selected two of our favorite songs of theirs: “Rabbits are Roadkill on Route 37” and “I Wanna Get a Mohawk (But Mom Won’t Let Me Get One).” The first piece is a more melodic, developed piece, while the second is just a fast, humorous piece that would get the crowd moving since we were the last act.

On the night of the show, I got ready in my room filled with anxiety and excitement. I put on a tight black t-shirt with some skateboard company’s logo on it, and my skinniest pair of jeans. The ensemble was complete with a pair of vans, a black wristband, and my hair covering part of my eyes (I liked to believe I was an emblem of punk/scene fashion, but I realize I wasn’t at all). I grabbed my Peavey Fury IV bass guitar and had my mom drive me to the school in her white minivan (so hardcore) to warm up with my band mates.

As 8^th graders, we were the kings of middle school, or so we thought. We waited around ready to play, having to sit through a rendition of The Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” performed by the 6^th grade’s Oak Street (or Oak Stink as we, the “cool” 8^th graders referred to them). We finally went on. The teacher emceeing the show announced us: “and now, the final act, Shibbie...bibbie…bobbie…sneezer?” We opened with “Rabbits…” to warm the crowd up. Our guitarist sang this song and it went over well. He was the most talented at his instrument of the three of us, plus he could sing well too. After this came my time to shine. The bass line in “I Wanna Get a Mohawk” is fast and difficult, and this along with singing seemed like it would be near-impossible for me. But, we killed it. The crowd loved us, with people saying we were one of the best acts.
I never did become a rock star. However I did play in several ska bands in high school with a different group of friends. Maybe one day....there's still hope.

"Rabbits are Roadkill on Route 37" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KrUxntzGPzA

"I Wanna Get a Mohawk" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOMAhGzMclM

My awful Driver's License Photo

When people see the picture on my driver’s license, they usually comment something along the lines of, “you look like an axe-murderer!” or, “some sort of crazy Russian,” or something to the tune of, “that is not a very flattering picture of you.” Well, if taking my driving test had gone the way I’d planned, I’m sure I’d look happy as a clam at high tide. But my exam wasn’t the most ideal way I’d anticipated getting my license.

Before my 16^th birthday (February 20^th, on a Friday several years ago), I had been driving for about a year, and had passed Driver’s Ed. All I had needed after that was enough hours. Almost every Sunday morning, I’d drive with my parents around an hour away to some other town to find a hole-in-the-wall diner to get breakfast. So when it came time to taking my test, I had plenty of experience and thought of myself as quite the safe driver.

It was Friday afternoon. I had gotten through school that day with all of the usual celebration and whatnot, friends congratulating me and wishing me well and all of the typical sentimental things. I’ve never liked to draw attention to myself, but on a birthday it’s almost unavoidable. Anyways, after school I went with my father to the county DMV (which is thankfully no more than 5 minutes from my house). I was also lucky, in that in the middle of February there wasn’t much snow on the roads and it was a clear day. So I began the test with the examiner in the car with me, turning right out of the parking lot of the DMV onto Winchester Road (since this is all very close to my house I know all of the roads the test took me to). Soon, I came to a stoplight. Made a full stop. Felt the rollback. I waited for the green arrow to turn so I could turn left across the intersection. Next, I turned left again onto Old Barn Circle, into Interlaken Valley. I made sure to cruise just below the 25 mile per hour speed limit. I turned right onto Elderberry Drive. I parked the car “downhill” the correct way. Next, I was directed to reverse around the corner. I went slowly, crept around the corner, but another car sped by me and had to honk its horn. This caused me to panic and I popped the back right tire up onto the curb. My heart sank. Maybe he’d forgive me, I thought, and he’d overlook it. I tried to act nonchalant and put the car in drive as the examiner instructed me to return to the DMV.

I’d failed. The car honking and popping onto the curb were enough to fail me. I was dying inside. He recommended coming back again because other than that I had performed well. Since the DMV is open on Saturdays, I decided I’d come back the next morning. So I did. I woke up at around 7, more tired than I should have been to take the driving exam. I didn’t throw a shirt on, just a big winter coat. Also, it had snowed about 5 inches that night. But I was determined to get my license. There was nobody on the roads, or at the DMV, save the employees. I took the test, and the examiner didn’t even make me back around the corner. I passed, but strangely I don’t remember the second test in nearly as vivid detail as the first.

So when the clerk at the DMV took my picture for my license, I was happy enough to have a slight grin on my face despite the sleep deprivation, and in the picture I have awful bedhead and I’m only wearing a heavy coat.

My 2nd Meeting with Mohammed

My second meeting with Mohammed. As I showed up to the University Bookstore (with a 1 liter Nalgene water bottle to forgo paying for coffee), I ran into none other than Dr. Williams himself. Shortly after, at about 5:25, Mohammed showed up and bought a lemonade from the Starbucks. And now we were ready to begin.

We chatted at first about how are weekends were. On Saturday afternoon he played soccer at the intramural fields. Then, that night, he went bowling with a group of friends. He also had to take care of his cousin who had terrible tooth pains over the weekend. Eventually, on Monday, Mohammed took him to a dentist and had the tooth removed. Mohammed mentioned that he had braces for a year, and found it strange that I had mine for a full 3 years (which I feel is fairly normal here). Later, we discussed how Sundays are lazy, relaxing days that should be dedicated to doing nothing. What struck me as odd about this is the fact that he has the same viewpoint of this day despite coming from an entirely different culture, where Saturday serves as the day of rest in their work week. On his Sunday, he just relaxed and watched TV most of the day, and studied some at the library. As we talked about our studies, and how I’m a Spanish major, Mohammed told me about his journeys to other countries aside from the US. He has been all over the Middle East, visiting Lebanon, Jordan, Syria (before the recent political strife) and several other places. He also mentioned how he wants to visit South America one day because of how beautiful his friends tell him it is. Mohammed described to me the job he hopes to get after college when he returns to his home in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. You get a salary, but the company also pays for your car, your gas, your home, your cellphone, and many other things. He made it seem like an average job at an accounting firm there.

When Mohammed mentioned that he’d forgotten to email Zhenya back, he asked me if I’d had a partner before him. I mentioned Abdulaziz, who just so happens to be his cousin whose tooth was removed. I was paired with Mohammed after Abdulaziz because Abdulaziz doesn’t know as much English as Mohammed. However, I invited Mohammed to bring his cousin to our next meeting so I could get to meet him and so they could both practice their English. 

Huckleberry Finn Questionnaire

1. Have you read the novel –Huck Finn- before?  If so where and why?

-I have not read Huck Finn before.

Answer either 2 or 3 depending on your answer to 1.

2. If you have not read Huck Finn before, surely you know something about the novel and character from references and allusions in popular culture.  What do you know about either the novel and/or character?

-(2) Just from references in pop culture and other literature classes I know that the book is considered vulgar and is banned in many schools because of its language and because of Huck being a deplorable main character. I’ve read Tom Sawyer as well so I know the general setting of the beginning of the novel.

3. What was your response to reading Huck Finn, and what do you remember from your reading?  Also, did you actually read the whole novel, or just parts of it?  Did you read Cliff Notes or Monarch Notes instead?

4. If you were assigned to read Huck Finn in a previous class, either here or in high school, how did your class as a whole react to the novel?  Why do you think your instructor assigned the novel?  How did he or she try to “teach” the novel?

-I think Huck Finn is assigned in classes because it shows a boy maturing through his experiences on the Mississippi and speaks out against racism.

5. If you were required to read Huck Finn in a previous class, what sort of assignments were you required to complete, and what exactly did you do during the classes when

Huck Finn was being discussed.

6. Huck Finn is still one of the most controversial and most banned books in America.  Why is it so controversial? 

-It is controversial for several reasons. On the surface it contains inappropriate language, using the N-word over 200 times.  Furthermore, Huck, as a main character, is not a good example to learn from as a protagonist, because of his racism in the much of the novel. Aside from Huck, many characters in the novel are morally detestable.

7. Is Huck Finn still relevant to you as college student today?  Should it continue to be taught in college classrooms?

-I think Huck Finn is still relevant in that the message it teaches about racism is still applicable in today’s society. And just because a book is antiquated doesn’t mean it can’t still teach valuable lessons. It should be continued to be taught in classrooms, not only because of the morals, but it is a unique experience to read a book written entirely in Huck’s dialect.

8.  The general consensus among critics is that Huck Finn is a brilliant and powerful novel, but also a flawed and problematic novel.  What do you think might be flawed and/or problematic about the novel?

-I think the ending of the novel is a bit of a cop-out. While the novel is well written, it seems to have no real direction for much of the book, other than south. While Huck and Jim might keep traveling down the river, they can only get further into territory where slavery is stronger. And if somehow they avoided any sort of real danger there, they’ll only end up at the Gulf of Mexico at the mouth of Mississippi. The book seems to be without a destination, and I think Twain realized that. Because he knew this, he wrote Tom in as a kind of deus ex machina to create and ending and resolve the story in some fashion.

Coffee with Mohammed

I walked into the University Bookstore ten minutes early. We had agreed to meet at 5:30, Mohammed and I. I chose the Bookstore because it is an accessible commonplace with a comfortable setting that would be adequate for meeting a total stranger.  I ordered a regular coffee, no sugar or cream. It keeps me alert and it gives me something to do with my hands while conversing. I waited around, not knowing who to look for other than what I thought a regular Arabic man would look like (given his full name is Mohammed al-Nufaei). A young, Middle-Eastern man walked in and looked around, scanning the room. I took a guess and asked if it was him. It was. He put his things down, and ordered a coffee too.

There was a bit of a barrier at first, however he quickly warmed up to the idea of talking. “Forgive me of my English, and correct me if I make mistake,” he said timidly, with obvious (and expected) nervousness. Aside from his accent, his speech was fluid enough for me to understand him. He was very soft spoken for the duration of our conversation. Mohammed is 22, from Saudi Arabia. Currently he is enrolled in only the English as a Second Language Program (Arabic being his first language). However he hopes to study Accounting here at TCU in the future. According to Mohammed, it’s been difficult coming here and leaving all of his family back home. He does have one cousin here, but he doesn’t see him that often. He misses his parents deeply and it is difficult for him to contact them back in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. He lives in a house with several roommates off of Berry Street near CVS, so campus isn’t too far of a walk for him. Next year he wants to live in the Grand Marc too. In his free time, he enjoys playing soccer with his friends down at the intermural fields. Mohammed also enjoys American television shows, like House and Friends. As far as American music goes, he’s not a fan.

Overall, Mohammed is a nice guy who’s trying his best to learn English and adapt to living on his own in the US. Hopefully, the more I meet with him I’ll get to know him better and his tension and nervousness will subside.

The Beloved Raftmen

While I read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, I couldn’t help but get the notion that the dialects spoken by Huck and Jim are distinguishably similar to that of the characters in Toni Morrison’s Beloved. Although they take place some 40 years apart, on either side of the crux of the Civil War, the dialect spoken by the African Americans (whether slaves or freedmen in each) in each share many commonalities, or at least they’ve sounded the same as I picture them in my mind. Huck’s language as well isn’t too far from that of the residents of 124 Bluestone Road.

However, so far, I’ve found Twain’s work more likeable and easily understandable, as well as more coherent. Huck’s narration seems logical and linear, while in Beloved, Sethe’s goes all over the place as she reminisces about her tragic experiences while escaping slavery.  Aside from the colorful language and the realistic dialog and language of the 1840s characters, the most memorable part for me so has been the “Raftman’s Passage.”  The introduction that the Child of Calamity gives himself, with all of the metaphors and similes and descriptions of the plethora of natural disasters that he is makes him the most interesting minor character so far. What makes it particularly delightful for me is the fact that this was submitted as a short story separately by Twain, and then incorporated in the story. I also found it funny how The Child of Calamity paints this picture of how undefeatable he is and then gets quickly beaten by the man with the least imposing and threatening name: Little Davy. The irony of the whole situation, with Tom hiding behind barrels for the whole brawl, makes it my favorite part of the story so far. The absurd story of the haunted barrel, told by Ed, only makes the Raftman’s Passage more humorous. I had no idea that the man was going to pull his dead infant son out of the barrel. That was a real curveball.

Life in the 1930s

In the early 1920s, Leon Bismarck “Bix” Beiderbecke was an aspiring trumpeter who lacked direction and a definitive style to call his own. However in 1922, at the age of 19, he attended a concert in Chicago to see Louis Armstrong play with King Oliver. From that night forwarded, he absorbed the “Negro” style of jazz and swing music and created a unique and transcendent sound all his own.

Beiderbecke came from humble beginnings as the son of a poor merchant in Davenport, Iowa. At the age of the three he learned how to play the piano, and as a teenager he went to the Lake Forest Academy where he learned to play the cornet.   He left school after a year to pursue his career, where he lived a poor musician’s life, despite his hard work.  Life Magazine said, “his tone was ravishing, his taste sure, his improvisations amazingly rich.”  At the time, Beiderbecke was, “the most important of all white jazz influences.” Because of his exhausting work ethic (and also a penchant for binge-drinking), he died young at the age of 27. However, his influence on the genre was far-reaching and prevalent through most of the 20^th century.

The first major difference I noticed between this 1938 issue of Life Magazine and modern magazines is the size. Old Life magazines were noticeably larger, however not necessarily thicker. There were full color and black and white advertisements, most of which were drawings. The ads also had much more words, even long paragraphs, rather than the brief blurbs in today’s advertising. As far as the stories, they were generally shorter, with several short paragraphs surrounded by large pictures of the subject. The pictures, and headlines, were much less discreet and slightly vulgar, compared to today’s highly regulated stories.

Three Feats of Manliness

It was the summer before junior year of high school. The fog-like, Lake Michigan humidity hanging in the air made the heat even more unbearable. Despite this, the air-conditioned sanctuaries of basements could only alleviate our boredom for so long. Naturally, in a quest for something to do without having to spend our allowances on precious gasoline, we ventured into the “wilderness” that is the forests and prairies of northern Illinois.

It was agreed upon by my three closest friends (Griffin, Keller, and Patrick) and me that we owed it to ourselves to enter the second half of our high school careers as “real men.” For us, this meant that by the end of the summer, we would each complete three Feats of Manliness. What constituted a Feat of Manliness was completely subjective, (and often spur-of-the-moment), and was deemed Manly by the performer of the act and also must have been affirmed by his three peers. For all of us, they varied greatly, and at this point in time as I reflect I don’t remember all nine that weren’t my own. However, I do know that all three of my friends completed theirs and were ushered into junior year as men.

Feat 1: The Beast

On one particularly muggy day in June, Griffin, who of the three I was closest to, and I went into the enormous soccer complex behind our neighborhood. It consisted of gigantic open fields scattered amongst a fairly dense forest. This forest provided the ideal shade to escape the moist warmth that permeated everywhere else that wasn’t shaded by a canopy of trees. There was a spot in the forest with a large, dead tree that was ideal for climbing and relaxing on. We ventured inward, deeper into the woods, a stick in each of our hands (for use as a sword or staff or walking stick or whatever our imagination would allow). As we meandered about, daydreaming and enjoying the splendor of the woods, there was a rustling in the bushes near me. Griffin and I froze. The bushes kept rustling. I slowly approached the bush, gripping the stick tightly as a katana. Suddenly, the bush exploded and a masked varmint jumped out at me. As a reflex, I instinctively swung at my assailant and struck it clear in the chest, deflecting the creature and sending it to the ground. As I regained my senses, I saw that it was a raccoon, and was briefly stunned. As I crept towards it, my “blade” still raised, it rolled over, and scurried stumblingly away.  I turned around, only to see Griffin standing there speechless, slightly awed. We simultaneously conceived of the idea that this defense was my first Feat of Manliness.

Feat 2: The Arbor

On the other side of town, away from the woods surrounding the soccer complex, is a county-managed forest preserve, with a Frisbee golf course winding through it. This was also a favored activity of our foursome in the summer as it was free, outside, and was an easy way to kill an hour or two and still get exercise and work on our tans. On the ninth and final hole, there was a river which wound through the forest preserve. One day, some several weeks after the completion of my first Feat, and with the others having completed several of their own—fixing a vintage car, building a tree fort (relatively close to the scene of my first Feat), and others—we decided to explore the area around the river, essentially following it for several hours. Eventually, the ground on our side of the river wasn’t fit for traveling on, so we decided to try the other side. However, we couldn’t find an acceptable spot to ford the river. Then I noticed it: a solution. There was a tree growing right next to the river, which if felled, would make the perfect bridge to the other side. The next morning, I returned to that spot, with an axe and determination. After arriving at 10 AM, I spent close to 5 hours chopping away. In retrospect, this was most likely illegal as the tree was part of the forest preserve and therefore property of the county, but at the time it didn’t matter. I chopped nearly all the way through, and paused with just enough of the trunk left so it would fall the correct direction. I brought the other three back the next day and they all approved of it as my second Feat of Manliness.

Feat 3: The Cuban

As the summer was coming to a close, and August was well under way, it seemed like a sad reality that I may not complete a third Feat of Manliness. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone: nobody had completed a third and ultimate Feat. Classes would start in about a week, and we would be back to the humdrum of high school life. In what seemed like an all too fitting Deus ex machine, Keller brought us all Cuban cigars that a relative of his had given him as a gift. So, while sitting out by Keller’s pool on a cool summer evening, the four of us smoked our first Cuban cigars, and celebrated our own passage into Manliness. This validation, meant little, but it gave us something to strive for over the summer, and gave us a sense of pride, and bonding, that we hadn’t had before.