This morning I rode the bus in to the university as usual, arriving on campus at about 9:30.  As I walked up the path from Van Vleck Hall to Bascom Hall, I noticed the flag was flying over the building at full-mast.  Of course, given today is what it is, this was completely inappropriate.

I was on my way to class, but since I make a habit of getting to campus twenty minutes early, I had enough time to pop into an office to alert Maintenance so they could fix the mistake.  Since Bascom Hall is the home of the Chancellor, Provost, Dean of Students, and numerous other officials, it wouldn’t look good to let the error go uncorrected, even if though it wasn’t meant to be purposely disrespectful.  I stopped in to the Undergraduate Dean’s office and asked the student at the reception desk if he could call Maintenance so they could lower the flag to the appropriate height. He fumbled for a few minutes with phone rosters before telling me he couldn’t help me, and then suggested I head upstairs to the Chancellor’s office, where they could help me for sure.

With my cushion time draining away, I went upstairs, rang the doorbell they make you ring to enter the reception room of the Chancellor’s office, and asked the receptionist if she could call Maintenance, giving her the same explanation as I gave the kid downstairs.  She scowled, asked me to repeat myself, and then gave me a look like I was wasting her time. “I can’t help you,” she said. “Go to the Building Manager’s office, they might be able to.”   From the tone of her voice, the second sentence should have been preceded by “If it means that much to you…”  The Chancellor, in her office with her door open, kept reading her email like it was no big deal.

So, I went and found the Building Manager’s office, because, yeah, it really does mean that much to me. I wanted to suggest to the receptionist that it should mean something to her, too, since it was folks like her, and not military personnel, that were murdered eight years ago. But I guess her cushy desk chair and Internet access were of greater importance than showing some fucking respect to those who died while peacefully going about their daily business.

How soon we forget (or cease to care).

This won’t be a thematic post but will instead function as more of an assessment of the progress I’ve been making, not only with this site (which is minimal in the visible sense), but with other facets of my life.  I don’t generally talk much about what is going on with me personally, but with how busy I have been recently I find it somewhat necessary to condense some of those thoughts into written form.

First off, I have finally completed the college application process.  I mailed my last application (to the University of Minnesota) yesterday.  I’m quite relieved to have moved beyond the application stage, especially as my initial application timeline coincided with preparations for the field operation in 29 Palms at the end of September.

The University of Minnesota asked a question I didn’t encounter elsewhere - they asked me to briefly state my academic interests and career goals.  I stated simply “It is my intent to pursue a dual major in English Literature and Russian as a precursor to a graduate degree in Slavic Languages and Literature. Ultimately, I wish to teach at a post-secondary level.”  I can’t think of a more simple way of putting it, though the Russian part is fluid at the moment.  I applied to the University of Wisconsin-Madison as an English Literature and Polish dual major, though I would like to speak both by the time I’m finished with my undergraduate degree.  I should also add that in no way does teaching at the post-secondary level mean I’m giving up on the idea of being a writer.  I’m just realistic about the need to put food on the table.

My friend (and host) Chris will go on Terminal Leave from the Marines today at noon.  Chris was my first roommate out here on Pendleton and has become a fast friend.  Though I am sad to see him leave I am happy that he’s progressing beyond the Corps into the private sector.  Chris recently gained his PHP certification, which merits congratulations as well.  Take care of yourself, man, and I’ll see you when Jo and I pass through Denver in twenty days.

At the left you will notice I’m currently reading Zamyatin’s We, a Russian dystopian novel dating from 1921.  We is generally considered the original dystopian novel, predating and influencing such works as 1984 and Brave New World.

The novel is significant for other reasons as well.  Zamyatin, an engineer, makes extensive use of mathematics for metaphor, and often his sentences look like they could be equations.  He also employs a unique writing style, one he termed the “language of thought,” a more evolved sort of stream of consciousness technique.  Zamyatin explains it best in this excerpt from his essay “On Language” (1919-20):

“[I]f you try to follow the language of thought in your own mind, you will not find even he simplest sentences — only shreds, fragments of simple sentences.  Only the most essential elements of a sentence are used: sometimes only a verb or only an epithet, an object … At first glance this assertion may seem paradoxical: why should fragments of sentences, scattered as after an explosion, have greater effect on the reader than the same thoughts and images arranged in regular, steady, marching ranks? … [because] you meet the reader’s natural instinctive need. You do not compel him to skim…”

One might suspect such a syntactical style would be difficult to adjust to, but I’ve found Zamyatin’s writing fresh and interesting.  I’ve enjoyed the book so far (I’m about 7 chapters in) and would heartily recommend it to anyone with an inclination for reading something atypical and thought-compelling.

On the website front, I’m looking into making some changes to the site, some subtle, some more sweeping.  Nothing is set in stone at all, and of course the readership is quite small (due to my erratic posting), but I’m trying to give it more visual appeal while upping the frequency and quality of the posting back to my previously mentioned levels.  Now that the albatross of application season is no longer around my neck I hope to be able to divert more brainpower to getting things back to the way they should be around here.

This brings me to my next to last point - the post I’ve been meaning to make for over a week now.  I’ve found that a good deal of research is required, and in the interest of accuracy I’d like to have all my facts straight before I make it.  I will throw out one hint - it will concern the Midwest, applied technology, current infrastructure, and transportation theory.

Lastly, with the Detroit Tigers playing in the American League Championship Series for the right to advance to the World Series, I’m more than a little disappointed they aren’t doing so in a revitalized Tiger Stadium instead of their shiny corporate-shill digs (Comerica Park).  Sadly, Tiger Stadium’s luck has run out.  This past June the Mayor of Detroit, Kwame Kilpatrick, announced the venerable old building, built in 1911, would be demolished starting this autumn.  Oh, what could have been.

Farewell.

This space has been little-used of late, a shortcoming I take quite personally. I’ve dispatched with one college application and find myself on the eve of a 15-day field operation out in Twentynine Palms, CA. I’ll be in the Mojave (pictured above during my last visit in August 2005) until October 3rd, but I plan on posting my first comprehensive update on the following Friday, October 6th.

I promise things will return to normal around here. Eighteen more days and I’ll officially be on vacation and able to concentrate on more important things.

Take care of yourselves.

I’ve been having a tremendous struggle with writer’s block of late, a struggle brought on by suddenly truncated deadlines for a number of projects I’ve been working on.  Due to “operational requirements” I will be going out to the field for twenty-eight days between now and the first of October.

This has created a major problem; my application to school for the Spring Semester is due on the first of October, and I’m effectively losing an entire month of time that I had counted on to refine my application.  I was informed of this decision last week during a meeting, told by my bosses that I couldn’t possibly be spared for the duration of those exercises.  I have a personal statement to write, letters of recommendation to collect, and transcripts to track down.  I can feel the weight of each second as it ticks by, tiny rocks rolling down a chute into an enormous basket strapped to my back, the basket growing heavier with every snick of a tumbling stone.

The knowledge of this extremely important impending deadline wouldn’t normally phase me, but in addition to getting my application together I have a bi-weekly column to write, along with my obligations here.  I’m not allowing myself to slack off on Carriage Return because I’m planning to mention it in my application, but at the same time, I worry that if I allow myself to become too dissipated the quality of my writing (here, or elsewhere) will suffer.

It is at times such as this when I turn to music to keep me afloat.

I generally listen to lighter fare on a daily basis, but any time I need food for my brain to jumpstart the creative process, I ransack my classical collection for all it’s worth.  I’ve noticed that I turn to particular composers, even particular pieces, for inspiration during different situations.

Most frustrating for me at the moment is the deadline for my column on Friday.  Though I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time, it stubbornly refuses to be written.  I’ve tried getting angry about it, I’ve tried distracting myself while writing it, I’ve even tried forcing myself into a sort of one-sided competition over it, all to no avail.

Earlier this evening, I stepped away from my laptop, knowing that I was digging myself an ever deeper hole with every minute I lingered in front of it, practically bashing my forehead into the keyboard in the hope that something worthwhile might come of it.  The column refused to flow from brain to fingers.  I went out to the car, called Jo, and talked to her until it was time for her to go to sleep.  I sat about twenty minutes longer, staring at the headliner and trying to clear my mind, before getting up wearily and walking back inside.

Sitting back down in front of the computer, I slipped on my headphones for maximum isolation purposes, and dialed up Brahms’ Symphony No. 1 in C minor.  It was time to attack things head-on, and if I couldn’t get my column out, I was at least going to put together an update for the website.  Maybe getting something down, no matter what the topic, would help crack the dam that was retaining my power of expression.

Generally Brahms doesn’t stoke any fires of determination inside me.  I prefer to relax when I listen to most of his works, but the First Symphony, particularly the first movement, gave me a kick in the creative pants like nothing short of Beethoven’s most intense and swaggering later work.  After sitting for two or three minutes and letting the music wash over me, I was able to start stringing together a few thoughts.  Thoughts became words, words started to organize themselves into sentences, and soon I was off.  I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going yet, but I was on my way nonetheless.

Classical music has always been closely related to my ability to express myself and understand or come to terms with my emotions.  From my earliest childhood days I can remember feeling soothed by certain works, pieces of music I would rapidly develop an affinity for - Brahms’ Hungarian Dance No. 5, Pablo de Sarasate’s Ziegeunerweisen, the “Lacrimosa” of Mozart’s Requiem.

As I grew older and my musical horizons broadened, I added composers to my list of influential favorites, mostly Romantics or early Moderns like Chopin, Mahler, Rachmaninov, Shostakovich, and Puccini.  I don’t care for any other Baroque composers, but I’m drawn to the order and precision of Bach.  If I’m feeling upset or worried I loop one of my two recordings of Glenn Gould playing the “Goldberg” Variations until I can manage to get myself under control.  When I’m angry I listen to Shostakovich, and if I’m feeling lonely it’s Chopin or a Beethoven piano sonata that I’ll cue up.

Of course, the music alone isn’t always enough to cure what ails me.  There are days when I can (and have) listened to Gould for two hours straight without feeling any better.  Listening to Brahms hasn’t helped me at all with my column that remains due, and I doubt that putting on some Shostakovich will shake me up enough to get it done tonight.  There are limitations to every treatment, and sometimes the only thing to solve a problem is to wait it out.

I’m starting to get that impression with my case of writer’s block.  I can sit here all night and stare at the keys, willing the thoughts sitting in my head to translate themselves into material I can use.  The end result will be even less productive than I have managed to be already - I’ll be tired, in a foul mood, and on my way to work without having anything to show for staying up all night.  I could take another break and go to sleep, get up in the morning refreshed, go for a run, and then try to get something written down in fits and starts while I’m at work, but that doesn’t seem any more appealing to me than pulling an unproductive all-nighter.

Either way, I’m extremely likely to be frustrated come morning.  I’ll sit down in my office and listen to Yehudi Menuhin’s incredible recording of Hungarian Dance No. 5, and I’ll scratch my head, shake out my fingers, and look at the blinking cursor on the screen.  After a few moments of waiting, I’ll open Firefox and check to make sure everything looks good on this site and quickly weed out the spam comments that have been creeping back of late (I thought I’d gotten rid of them, but they seem to have latched on again).

I’ll check this post to make sure it looks good on the wider resolution setup at work.  Hopefully I’ll laugh.

I’ve just written an entire post about not being able to write.  If that doesn’t do enough for you in the irony department, I don’t think I can help you.  I certainly can’t help myself tonight, and neither can Brahms.

Though I managed to keep up a rather brisk pace over the holiday weekend, tonight I find myself jolted from the rhythm I had been settling into. A combination of factors are keeping me from exercising my brain in any truly creative manner, and though I have one topic I’ve been waiting to run with for a few weeks now, I never can quite seem to get in the mood to do it the justice it deserves.

Such is my creative frustration.

I took young Erick Michael in for his two-week appointment yesterday afternoon. His dad, my friend Sean, is out in the field this week, and Stephanie can’t drive until next week (doctor’s orders). Sean asked me to stand in for him and take Steph and the little guy over to the Naval Hospital, which was an honor for me. The report was good - Erick’s gained two pounds since birth and is doing quite well.

He’s also the most easy-going baby I’ve been around in ages. He doesn’t cry unless he’s hungry, and though he doesn’t like to sleep much, he seems to keep himself entertained. He is content to be held and to look around the room, occasionally making noises to himself which sound like the contented gruntings of an elderly man. I’m no where close to fooling myself into thinking that all babies are as jovial as Erick is, but I certainly wouldn’t mind if mine turned out that way.

Below is a picture of Erick and I when I first visited him in the hospital. He was only three hours old at this point, and though it looks like my ear is as big as his head, that is not the case.

In other news, I’ve gotten the ball rolling with my college applications. I asked for my first letter of recommendation from my old commanding officer (who is currently deployed in Iraq), and I’m hoping to get at least two more to include with my school paperwork and my application for a work-study through the VA.

This application process is going to be more nerve-wracking than the first time around. I can feel that this early in the going, and I’m already wishing things over and done with.