O the Joys of Childhood

I wasn't into the typical "girl toys" when I was little. I didn't have Barbies, dolls, or fake babies. I did have a lot of stuffed animals though. There are three things that come to mind when I think of childhood favorites: books, Powerpuff Girls, and forts.

My sisters and I read a lot of books when we were little. I remember every summer we participated in the summer reading program at the local library. We had to read a certain number of a certain level of books a week. We always surpassed the required amount and eventually started reading at higher levels than our age group required. I loved summer reading. It is always a time for pleasure reading in my mind. Sitting on the couch or by the pool enjoying a good mystery novel or fantasy book. It's one of the things I look forward to the most. One of our favorite things to do was record ourselves reading. We would sit in our playroom, often under a table with a blanket hanging over it for privacy, and read allowed as our cassette player recorded the story. What's funny, though, is we hardly ever listened to the recordings. Mostly we just did the recording and that was it. The few times we did play them back we always laughed at how funny we sounded. I still think I sound weird when I hear a recording of my voice.

Powerpuff Girls was our other obsession. We watched every single episode multiple times and recorded as many as we could (on videotape since this was before DVD). When we discovered we could pause the show a new obsession began. Many afternoons were spent in front of the TV drawing a scene from the show that was paused on the screen. We became experts at drawing Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup. We paused the tapes so much that eventually a white static line started developing on the screen whenever a tape was paused. Our parents made us stop. But that didn't stop our creativity. One week we decided to make masks out of cardboard. Sarah took Blossom because she is the oldest and the bossiest. I took Blossom because my favorite color was green and I always viewed myself as kind of a tomboy. Clare took Bubbles because she was the youngest and most innocent. We spent a couple days cutting out the masks and coloring them. My mom still has pictures of all three of us lined up in our costumes. It was the first TV show I ever kept up with.

I think every kid goes through a stage where they love making forts. This stage lasted a couple years for my sisters and I. Forts probably isn't the right word though. We liked to make "rooms" out of cardboard boxes. Usually we could only fit one or two of us in them at a time, but for us it was a secret hiding place where we could escape to. I remember one particular box we made that was especially extravagant. We were well experienced with cardboard boxes at this point and realized we could make bigger forts if we connected boxes. Our final masterpiece had three sections, one for each of us. it was just wide enough for us to sit in but a foot taller than our sitting height. Each of us built a shelf above our head to store various items like flashlights and books. There was a small opening to crawl through to get in. We kept that fort for weeks. Eventually it started falling apart from us crawling in and out of it so much. It was our proudest accomplishment and I have many happy memories of it.

Climbing a Tree

It seems that Marcelo's cell phone has been out of service for the past couple weeks, therefore I would like to share with everyone my experiences climbing trees...

When I was younger, probably through sixth grade, my Granny lived in a house that had a nice little backyard with a bench-swing, a tool shed, and the best climbing tree ever. Every time my family went down to Houston to visit Granny, the first thing my sisters and I did when we got there was climb the tree. It never got old. There were three main branches that broke off the trunk and were sturdy enough for my sisters and I to climb on. One went horizontally, parallel to the ground over the fence. Climbing this limb allowed us to cross into uncharted territory. Past the fence was a strip of land overgrown with weeds and grass. Oftentimes we would pretend the ground was lava or the ocean and if we fell off we would burn or drown. Morbid, I know. At first we crawled on our hands and knees, but as we grew braver we started standing on the limb and walking across it. Soon we all conquered the limb and could traverse it no problem.

The second limb angled up to the right at about a 45-degree angle. This was the "intermediate" branch. Climbing this section took some skill and experience and provided a challenge in the beginning. However, this branch also offered the best sitting position. There was a smaller branch that came off and provided a nice little seat for resting. It became a goal to reach that seat and the feeling of triumph we would gain. For if you could reach the seat, you had conquered the limb. I earned many scrapes and bruises getting to that seat but I was so proud every time I made it.

The third limb was the most treacherous. It climbed at a much steeper angle than the second. At first, only Sarah, my older sister, was brave enough to climb it. Her bragging and taunts that Clare and I were too little to climb it soon became more than we can bear. It took some courage, but I would grit my teeth and try to scramble up, clinging for dear life at times. Over the years, that limb served as a sign of progress. Each time we visited Granny I was able to climb up further. There were times when I got stuck and was afraid to come down. That's when Dad played Hero. In the end, I did conquer that branch, and what a happy moment that was.

Eventually Granny moved out of that house. I miss that old tree. Climbing it's three limbs and slowly progressing to the level of Expert Tree Climber helped me learn about and develop a sense of perseverance. No matter how many scrapes or ant bites I got, I continued to climb the tree until I could do whatever I wanted on it.

"The Open Window"

I really enjoyed the readings for today, especially "The Open Window" by Saki. I found it somewhat ironic that the "young lady of fifteen" was "self-possessed". It seems like an oxymoron to me. I also couldn't help but notice the use of a certain four-letter word that Dr. Williams does not like in the description of Vera. I think he has conditioned me to be wary of it. Vera's questioning of Framton Nuttel's knowledge of the area and her aunt made me a little suspicious of her. After hearing the tragic story she told Framton I wondered how much of it was true, then decided it was all a lie when Mrs. Sappleton came bustling in talking about her husband and brothers returning through the open window soon. Fifteen year olds can be quite mischievous.

It was cruel of Vera to play such a trick on Framton when he was already having issues with his health. However, imagining the scene in which the husband and brothers arrive and the look of fear in Framton's face did make me laugh. Why is it that society as a whole seems to find other people's tragedy, discomfort, or fear funny? When a close friend falls of a bike or trips up the stairs we laugh at his or her embarrassment. It's harmless, but have we ever stopped to think about the effect it might have on that individual. Granted, most people laugh along with you. But what about those that take it personally? Maybe they are just too uptight or emotional. This really doesn't have anything to do with the story, I just kind of went off on a tangent...

"The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" by James Thurber evoked more feelings of sympathy and pity than humor for me. I think old men are really cute and it pains me when they struggle in life. Walter Mitty had so many daydreams in which he was the hero, leader, or idolized male that it was almost painfully obvious he felt emasculated. It was no wonder with how controlling his wife is. She doesn't want him driving above a certain speed limit, makes him take her to the hairdresser's, sends him shopping, and overall treats him like a child. Some of the comments she makes and how often he daydreams, however, do make me wonder if he is mentally ill. Mrs. Mitty mentions needing to take Walter's temperature and wishing they had seen Dr. Renshaw that morning, which points to Walter having health issues. I still feel sorry for the man though. All his dreams of being "Walter Mitty the Undefeated" tell me he is not satisfied with his current lot.

I liked how Thurber tied in aspects from one dream into another or from real life into the dreams. For example, The Webley-Vickers automatic first mentioned in the daydream about the Waterbury trial reappears in his daydream of being Captain Mitty. I love little intricate details like that. Many times when you first read a story you miss it. It makes going back and rereading the story much more interesting. The same can be said for movies.

Long Time No See

Marcelo and I were finally able to get together after trying and failing for the past couple weeks. Our schedules have not meshed well lately. This was even a short meeting because we both had lots to do but managed to squeeze in a quick meeting. Marcelo requested a tour of Milton Daniel since he'd never been in it and had heard it was really nice.

Upon first entering into the Great Hall I asked him what his first impressions were.

"It's like a hotel!"

I laughed and told him that the building had been nicknamed the "Milton Hilton" for that exact reason. I proceeded to give him a floor-by-floor tour of the entire building, highlighting unique features as we went. I showed him my only somewhat messy room, too. He was impressed. We hung out in the third floor lounge for a bit, talking and looking out the big glass windows at the people coming in and out of the building. It was amusing to see everyone battling the gigantic gusts of wind. You could tell that the girls who chose to wear dresses or skirts that day greatly regretted it.

It was hear that Marcelo informed me that he had applied and been accepted to TCU as a regularly enrolled, full-time international student! He would be returning in the fall and is probably going to study business. He also told me that the day before he received news that he got a scholarship of $25,000 a year! I was ecstatic for him. This whole semester he has been debating whether or not to apply to TCU or Hill College or some other university. Hill College has a rodeo a team and back in Brazil he is one of the best calf-ropers around. However, he finally decided that he liked TCU more and thought it was a better university (duh) and therefore was thrilled to receive his acceptance letter and financial aid package.

Unfortunately we had to end our meeting here as we both had to get somewhere. His only obstacle now is to find on-campus housing. That can be quite a challenge...

"Under the Ridge"

Failure. That is the message I got from this story. Every aspect of the story or story within the story ended in failure. The attacks failed, prisoners were killed, an attempt at freedom ended in death, a young boy's determination to be useful resulted in his cold-blooded murder. Professor Williams was right, this is a depressing war story. The first page gives a description of the camp and one of the first things mentioned are the stretchers and ambulances. Already the reader is exposed to death and injuries of war. Not a pleasant start. It is easy to see how Hemingway must have felt about wars.

I may be over analyzing it, but the tension and hatred between the soldiers of different nationalities seems to be conveying a message. The Extremaduran repeats several times that he hates foreigners and when asked to explain rattles off a long list of terrible things different countries have done to his family. It makes me wonder if different countries benefit from each other in any way. I mean, this story is about a war between several different countries. Why are they fighting? Can't they work together? Sure, one side has an "International Brigade" but there are tensions within it. The Extremaduran, for example. No one seems to like or trust the French officials. In the end the Extremaduran seems to respect the narrator personally, but he still leaves because he is North American.

It made me angry, frustrated, and uncomfortable to read that soldiers were killed for cowardice. Everyone will have a moment of weakness. There is not one soldier in a war who is not terrified at some point and wants to just run home. Who can blame the soldier for simply walking away when he saw the hopelessness and pointlessness of the situation? And who doesn't understand the fear the young boy Paco felt that made him injure himself? I can understand punishing them but killing them seems excessive especially if you are already in need of more troops.

The bottom line is war turns men into animals. Reading this story gave me the depressing feeling that there will never be peace. Countries will always hate each other and there will always be those individuals who are animalistic and seek confrontation.

Playing Detective

When reading the past few short stories by Ernest Hemingway I have found myself playing the role of detective trying to read between the lines, see below the surface, piece together the clues and figure out what the heck is going on in the story. I had no idea "Hills Like White Elephants" was about abortion until I looked it up online. It completely blew my mind. How did people clue in to that? It went right over my head. Reading through the evidence and explanation of references to pregnancy and abortion in the story I began to understand. However, I'm not sure that I would have uncovered the story's true meaning on my own even if I read it twenty times.

"Cat in the Rain" wasn't as bad as "Hills Like White Elephants," but I was still pretty off in my interpretation. I read the American wife's obsession with the cat and wanting a cat to be her subtle hints to her husband about wanting a baby. I thought the cat symbolized her quest for a child and how it seems to keep alluding her. George was very standoff-ish when it came to the cat and never paid his wife much attention. I could see and feel the oppression she felt at the hand of her husband. I was wrong about the child however. The cat merely symbolizes the wife and how contained and restrained she feels by her husband. I picked up a little on George's control over his wife, but I read into the cat a little too much. Reading analysis of the story online gave me an "Oooooooohhhh" moment and a twinge of disappointment that I was wrong. It was an improvement from the previous story, however.

Then came my shining moment with "The Sea Change." I nailed this story. I picked up on the subtle hints at the masculinity of the woman and Phil's reference to his rival as "her." From the first page I knew that the woman was leaving the man to pursue a lady friend. George's description of her behavior as a "perversion" and a "vice" supported my assumption and made me feel confident. Further research online proved my analysis correct. Cue triumphant trumpet! What a relief. I finally got a story right. "The Sea Change" may be an easier story to understand, but I feel accomplished. I have slowly gotten better at intensively reading these Ernest Hemingway stories and feel a small sense of pride. The real test will come with the next story...was this just a fluke?

Billy Collins - from "Questions About Angels"

I chose to read six poems from Questions About Angels because it was published the year I was born. I ended up reading more than six because I was really enjoying them. Normally when I read poetry I don't really understand what is going on. I miss the underlying meaning or can't picture what the imagery is trying to describe. However, Billy Collins's poems are simple and easy to follow and understand. I found them very refreshing and felt rather calm and at peace when reading them, which may sound corny, but since I am usually frustrated or confused when reading poetry this feeling of contentment was novel and wonderful.

Here is a specific list of the poems I read: "American Sonnet", "Questions About Angels", "Forgetfulness", "The Dead", "The Man in the Moon", "Not Touching", and "Purity". Collectively, these poems had a solemn tone to them. They weren't depressing or even particularly sad but gave me this feeling that not all was well with the world, something was missing or out of place. For example, in "American Sonnet" Collins describes how the sender of a postcard wishes that they "were where you are" and that the picture on the front displays where they "have strayed." The wording he uses conveys a sense that the person on vacation sending the postcard is not entirely happy with where they are. People who send postcards are usually in some exotic location taking some time off for R&R. Here however, the vacationer wishes they were back home with the receiver of the postcard, feeling they have "strayed" from happiness.

Another aspect of Collins's writing that I am fond of is his organizational style. Each stanza has it's own little subject. I read it as being broken up into streams of thought. In "Purity" the first three stanzas take you through the speaker's process of getting ready to write. First they take their clothes off, then they remove their skin, and finally take out their organs. The fourth stanza declares they are ready to write. Then the fifth stanza is written as kind of a side note. It makes the poem easy to follow and conceptualize. Not all the poems I read were as obvious in their structure as "Purity", but they did seem to follow the same basic set up.

I was particularly struck by "Not Touching". The twelve line poem is one sentence, ten lines of which are a simile to describe the first two lines. The imagery was clear and put into focus exactly what the speaker is feeling. However, due to the simile's length I wondered if the focus of the poem was actually on the simile and not the supposed subject of not touching the person the speaker desires. This passing thought was lost in the exactness of the imagery upon my second reading. I liked the image Collins used because it is one that everyone has seen and is familiar with. I think that's part of why I like his poetry. It's easy to understand because he writes in a way that people of all ages and intelligences can relate to. I am really looking forward to his reading on Thursday.

Limitless

Today Marcelo and I went to Movie Tavern and saw "Limitless" starring Bradley Cooper. On the drive there we talked about our weekends and what we had done this past week. He mentioned that he was really missing Brazil. 42 days until he goes back home, he's counting down. He mentioned that knowing his return home is just a little over a month away makes him miss it all the more. When I thought about it I realized I felt the same way. The week before Spring Break dragged on and on because I couldn't wait to get home to my family. This week I missed them more than normal as well. I think the more time that passes the less I'll miss them, until we get a couple weeks from the end of the semester. It's a vicious cycle I'd never noticed before.

We arrived just as the lights were dimming and quickly found seats smack dab in the middle of the theater. Perfect. Marcelo told me that the theaters in Brazil are nothing like the Movie Tavern. This didn't really surprise me, since most theaters I've been too are the traditional style, no rolling office chairs or waiters. We both really enjoyed the movie. I learned that Bradley Cooper is one of Marcelo's favorite actors, partly for his role in "The Hangover". I told him that I liked Cooper too, but his looks have something to do with that...

Marcelo and I have gotten to the point in a friendship where you are comfortable just sitting in silence. We were both tired from our weekends and were content to make the ride back to campus a quiet one. However, since the whole point of meeting is to converse we laughingly decided we should probably have some sort of conversation. We talked about trivial and unimportant things like homework, classes, and the weather. I have never had any trouble understanding Marcelo and he rarely struggles to come up with a certain word, so the conversation was very similar to one I might have with a friend from the area. He would like to tour Milton Daniel, so our next meeting I will play tour guide and show him around my current home.

A Good Night for Dancing

Last night I took Marcelo to Billy Bob's for some two-steppin'. He brought his friend Mark from Omaha who also has a Brazilian heritage and can speak Portuguese. We met up with a couple of my friends and immediately began giving the two boys country dancing lessons. They were very enthusiastic about learning! They were quick to catch on to the basic steps and spins and were very eager to practice their new skills. Mark especially showed great interest in learning and even sought out a couple random girls so he would have a partner when I was teaching him the steps! It was hilarious to see these two guys being so serious about learning to dance. Marcelo in turn taught me and my friends the basic steps of how they country dance in Brazil. It's pretty much the same as what we do at Billy Bob's, just an extra step.

While sitting and resting Marcelo and I went into more depth about the differences in traditions and behaviors between U.S. southern country dancing and Brazilian dancing. I was surprised to learn that it is a very big deal if a guy asks a girl to dance, because at the end of the dance they are expected to kiss! Asking lonely Brazilian girls to dance at parties is a serious ordeal. In contrast, girls at Billy Bob's line the dance floor hoping to catch the eye of some guy just so they can get our on the floor and enjoy the music. No commitments, just simple conversation while shuffling around the floor.

Marcelo remarked that in Brazil they don't have honky tonks like we do here. There is no place for people to dress up in boots and button-downs and hit the dance floor. The only time they don their country gear is for rodeos and stock shows. He really loved that there are places like Billy Bob's where people can dress up just to dance and have fun.

When is came time to line dance the boys had a little trouble. Once they got the steps down though, they got really into it. Later I told them that the particular line dance we did was probably the easiest one they play at Billy Bob's. This surprised them since they had so much trouble with it. Unfortunately there wasn't another line dance song played so I couldn't show them more complicated steps.

Overall the night was a blast. They were both inspired and motivated to get really good at two-steppin' because of all the pros they saw on the dance floor. Several times I caught them just staring at certain couples as they performed fast and intricate spin moves. It was pretty funny. They made me promise to teach them more and help them practice before they go again. This was the best meeting Marcelo and I have had so far!

Vogue, 1922

The first two pages I looked at in the July 1, 1922 edition of Vogue, the “Hot Weather Fashions Number,” were advertisements for hosiery. Right away I am swept into a different time and place. Wearing hose does not make one elegant here in 2011. Women like to show off their legs, not hide them. However, when I think about it the older a woman is the more likely you will be to find her wearing hose. My grandmothers wear hose. They were brought up in a time when it was lady-like.

The vacation ads I came across advertised similar things: beautiful beaches, golf, yachts, cruises, horseback riding, and good food. These are all activities people want in a vacation today. Yet the feel of the ads was different than what I feel when I view ads for Carnival Cruise lines. The 1922 ads seemed to emphasis relaxation, lounging, and doing absolutely nothing. Vacations today seem more focused on doing physical activities like snorkeling, hiking, or paragliding. From these ads it appears that the 20s were a much slower time then today.

About ten pages at the front of the magazine were covered in blurbs about different schools ranging from military academies to schools for girls. I’m not really familiar with the school systems of the time, but my guess is that education was gaining ground, importance, and increasing in variety. I really doubt I would find anything about a university in an issue of Vogue this year.

Flipping through the section about summer fashion I noticed two things. One, none of the models wore anything shorter than their calf line, and two, they all wore skirts. I guess this doesn’t really surprise me. Back then women were more feminine, fragile, proper, and sophisticated. They dressed more delicately. Today the focus is more on being sexy, fierce, and independent.
I also noticed that all the models and drawn figures had short haircuts that didn’t pass the chin line. Many women had soft curls or wore large floppy hats. There was also no emphasis on accentuating a woman’s chest. In fact, there seemed to be more of a focus on the lack of breasts than on the presence of them. Both of these characteristics of “modern beauty” are completely opposite of what women strive for today. Long hair and push-up bras are the fashion. However, it is true that popular fashions from previous decades are creeping back into today’s favored styles of dress. It makes me wonder, how long until the 1920s influence our wardrobes?

One article I found particularly interesting was titled “Vogue Essays on Etiquette.” It discussed how young women of the day were acting more scandalous then the previous generation. The article made a point that still applies today: “Of course, each new ‘younger set’ does things which the past younger set did not do, and the elders of both, perhaps, hold up their hands in holy horror” (pg 43). No matter what decade or century a person grows up in, the younger generation will commit outrageous acts of independence against what is considered the norm or appropriate behavior. Today, mothers are horrified when their daughters start walking out the door in a skin-tight skirt that barely covers their butt and a shirt that looks more like a bra. In 1922, “a young person of bold, self-assertive manners, with a painted face, ballet-length skirt, and bare back” is tsk-ed at by older generations. The main goal of the article was balance and peace between the generations; a goal society is constantly searching for. “Vogue seeks…to adjust the delicate balance between what the older generation must yield to inevitable change and what reckless youth must, in its own interests, leave to the judgment of more mature minds.” One final amusement I found in this article was the description of cars as “motors” and how they were responsible for a great deal of liberty for the youth. Technology seems to be ever-increasing what scandals young people can get into.

My favorite article was “Handkerchiefs a Lady Loses.” It outlined the best type of handkerchiefs to drop in certain places for the best results. The whole thing seemed so silly to me. I got a good laugh out of it.

There were several articles about gardens and furniture and maintaining a household. It surprised me how long the articles were and how small the font was. For me, this did not read as a magazine but more of a how-to book. There was so much detail and advice that it was hard to read through entire articles without getting bored or uninterested. I did not want to spend ten minutes reading one article. Did women in 1922 have more free time? They must have, and more patience, to get through an entire issue of Vogue. In fact, I even came across a paragraph that refers to the magazine as a book. That seems a much more apt description, a picture book. It was exhausting to get through, but an interesting experience.

The Modern

I do not appreciate most modern art. I find it frustrating and confusing that different colored stripes stretching across a seven foot canvas is considered art and is worth thousands of dollars. I could do that. Give me a blank canvas and paint and I could throw up some circle, blotches, or lines. These are the types of paintings that annoy me. One of the exhibits was titled "Ed Ruscha: Road Tested." To me, it looked like a collection of a bunch of photos a guy took on a road trip. Walls were lined with framed pictures of different gas stations and hotels. Several maps with certain towns marked were scattered throughout the exhibit. How is this art? I just don't understand.

Okay, I just had to vent a little about the types of pieces I don't really respect. There were lots of paintings that I loved at the Modern. A collection from the Fort Worth Circle incorporated vivid colors that drew the eye. One particular painting, The Celebrity by Cynthia Brants, especially interested me. It was a collage of different forms, faces, shapes, and objects. The longer I looked at it the more I discovered. The next piece that caught my eye was the Passover by Dennis Blogg. At first glance it looked like an enlarged photograph of a desert landscape. When I got closer, however, I discovered that it was actually oil on canvas. There was so much detail in the foreground. The plants and desert land were painted in brighter, lighter colors. In contrast, the sky and mountains in the background were dark and ominous, as if foreshadowing an oncoming storm. I love stormy weather, especially right before the storm hits when all is quiet but the sky is dark. That's what I saw in this painting.

My absolute favorite was The Ark by Melissa Miller. It depicted a scene from the biblical story of Noah. Most representations of this familiar story show the animals as calm and orderly, filing into the ark without protest. What really drew me to this piece was its different take on the story. Instead of the animals paired side by side, many were separated. Not all the animals looked friendly. Wolves were threatening mice, lions were roaring at horses. Overall, the scene was somewhat chaotic. The background was a swirl of dark blues and oranges, black and reds. It suggested that there was a terrible storm raging, a torrential downpour flooding the land. The whole painting used vibrant colors, giving it life and captivating the viewer. It was huge, completed on two panels. I found it in a back hallways, separate from other pieces of art. I stood in front of it for probably 15 minutes taking it all in. "This is what art should be," I thought.

There was only one other artwork that captivated me, though not as much as The Ark. Aschenblum is a huge piece of art that took up almost an entire wall. It took the artist, Anselm Kiefer, 14 years to complete. At first I thought it was covered in bark because of its rough texture. Maybe it's a tree? But upon further inspection I can see walls, a tiled ceiling, and a floor. After reading the information plate next to it I discover I am right. It is an interpretation of the Mosaic Room in Reich Chancellory, Berlin. The artist painted the empty room, then covered it with ash, clay, and earth. The piece was Kiefer's way of coming to terms with his German heritage. It incorporated Nazi imagery and symbolism. For Kiefer, it represented the processes of transformation. It was huge, grandiose, and personal.

Walking around and reading the information plates, I discovered that many of the artists were inspired by and borrowed from other Modernist thinkers. This reminded me of the section in Modernism: A Very Short Introduction that went into detail about Modernists using each other in their work. It helped answer my question, how do they come up with some of these confusing and seemingly meaningless images to convey their thoughts and feelings? I learned that inspiration not only comes from others, but from personal experiences as well. Ben Shahn wanted to create a piece "centered on disaster and evil overwhelming the helpless and innocent." He painted Allegory in 1948, depicting a large red lion with a fiery mane standing over four small sleeping children. The background was blue with no distinct shape. Apparently, Shahn had a couple bad experiences with fires and read about four children being killed by some natural disaster. The painting made much more sense after knowing what the painter had experienced.

One exhibit I really enjoyed was Focus: Robert Lazzarini. His sculptures played with dimensions creating eye tricks that really made you focus. He warped the shape of revolvers, safes, and brass knuckles so that they looked like they had been flattened at odd angles. Walking around the sculptures, you could see that they really weren't flat, but 3-dimensional. It was quite the illusion.

Overall, I enjoyed my trip to the Modern Art Museum. There were pieces I hated and pieces I loved. I discovered that I am drawn to artwork that is more realistic, like landscapes or animals. I'm not a real fan of random shapes on a canvas. To each his own.

Food, School, and Language

Today I met with Marcelo for lunch at Red Cactus. He had never been there and was interested in trying the Mexican food. We started off the meal discussing the cuisine available in America and Brazil. Mexican food is not very popular in Brazil. There are not many places that serve it. However, they do have other international foods, like Chinese. The lack of Mexican food surprised me considering the proximity of Mexico to Brazil in comparison to China. He also mentioned that they had "American" food. When I asked what that entailed, all he could come up with was hamburgers and hot dogs. We spent the next five minutes trying to come up with other foods that would be considered American without much luck. I had never really thought about it before. Our discussion made me realize that the foods available in the U.S. are just a conglomeration of international foods. We eat Chinese, Thai, Mexican, Italian, to name a few. But really, America doesn't have its own cuisine besides hamburgers and hot dogs.

Marcelo described to me the native foods of Brazil. He said they ate a lot of beans and rice. The food he misses the most though is the meat. They ate meat with every meal. I didn't understand completely, but the way he described it made it seem like Brazilians have special types of meat or special ways of making it. He explained that they make different cuts of beef than are found in America. The thing he misses most about Brazil is the food.

Marcelo is considering applying to TCU for the next school year. He told me it is so much easier to get into a good college in America than in Brazil. Apparently, each university in Brazil has its own test as opposed to the universal SAT and ACT in the U.S. Students will study several subjects including Math, Science, Philosophy, Portuguese, English, Writing, and History to prepare for the tests. If they do not achieve a satisfactory score on the exam they are not accepted to the university and have to wait a whole year to retake it. During this year they study, study, study. There are universities that take lower scores on their tests, but there is a big difference between a good university and an okay university in Brazil. If you want a decent job with a good company, you better attend a good university. That is why Marcelo came to the U.S. for college. It is easier to get into and almost all the universities are high quality. I now appreciate more the opportunities I have as an American citizen.

Our final topic of discussion was languages. I asked if he was required to take English in high school. He said that while they were, it wasn't an important class. It was what we would call a "blow-off" class that no one paid attention in. He learned English through private classes he took with about five other people. To my surprise, he said that speaking is the easiest for him and writing is the hardest. When I was learning French in high school I was just the opposite. I had so much trouble speaking. However, that was partly due to the fact that we were hardly ever forced to speak French.

We are going to meet again on Thursday when I take him to Billy Bob's and teach him how to two-step. He is going to teach me how they country dance in Brazil. It should be a very enlightening experience!

Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper"

To put it simply, this story creeped me out. I can see it being made into a horror film, maybe by M. Night Shyamalan. Spooky. Disturbing. One that gives you the goose bumps. While reading it I had a continuing sense of unease, as if something terrible and inevitable was going to happen, which turned out to be spot on. From the beginning when the narrator declared that "there is something weird about [the house]" in the third line, I knew something unnatural was going to come out of the woodwork.

The plot line was pretty easy to predict honestly. From the little details the narrator gave about the room, like the barred windows, rings in the walls, the bed nailed to the ground, and the wallpaper ripped savagely off the wall, I surmised that the room had a more sinister history than being used as a nursery, playroom, and gymnasium. Then when she started seeing an old woman behind the wallpaper I knew she was going crazy. The thought even crossed my mind that the narrator is or will become the woman creeping along the wall.

I believe the form it was written in, as a stream of conscious thought, added to the eeriness of the story. I was able to track the growth in obsession with the wallpaper. At first it was just a nuisance, an eye-sore, but then it consumed the narrator's every thought. The woman creeping around clearly had to be a hallucination.  If I saw an old woman creeping and crawling around the outside of my home, my reaction would be fear and alarm, not fascination.

I was very impressed with the transition from the narrator being outside the wallpaper and observing the trapped old woman to herself being the one released from the wallpaper. I had to go back and reread the previous lines to make sure I hadn't missed something. Even though I was somewhat expecting it to happen it still caught me a little off guard. It was beautifully done. That would be the point in the movie when the ominous background music gets louder and faster. Then the music would suddenly stop as John comes into the room and observes her insane behavior. When he faints and she continues creeping along the wall, the music would gradually come back. The last scene would be the narrator walking over her husband as she creeps along the wall. Very unnerving.

Going to Walmart

Today, upon request, I took Marcelo to Walmart. He does not have a vehicle and was very interested in seeing my Jeep Wrangler. On the way to Walmart we talked about how crazy drivers are. He said traffic is much more "organized" in Brazil. "In the United States, people do whatever they want!" While I agree that there are some crazy drivers, I still wanted to defend my country. However, before I could respond a woman proceeded to cut me off and go speeding down the road. I ended up just agreeing with Marcelo.

We discovered that we both love country music. Some time during the semester I am going to take him to Billy Bob's and teach him how to two step. He has been once before, but the country dancing in Brazil is much different than what people do at Billy Bob's. I then played a CD of my favorite band, Relient K, for him. To my delight he really liked them! At our next meeting he is going to play a different sort of Brazilian country music for me.

Once we got to Walmart, we made our way through the aisles and picked up everything he needed. I found it interesting that his shopping list was written in Portuguese. Some of the items he had to describe, but we had no trouble until it came to Kleenex. He described it as "lens paper" so I thought he meant the special paper or cloth used to clean glasses. However, I realized he meant tissue paper when he started pretending to blow his nose. Our little Kleenex debacle was probably quite a spectacle. This was his second time at Walmart and he was very impressed with the variety of items it contains. There are Walmarts in Brazil, but they are all too far away from his small town for his family to do any shopping there.

When we got to the checkout, he started putting his things on the counter. To my embarrassment, he even took the one item I needed to get and placed it among his things. He refused to let me pay for it, saying it was the least he could do for driving him there. Any guy who has no reservations in buying a new acquaintance a box of tampons is definitely all right in my book.

Meeting Marcelo

Today I met with Marcelo Rubez, my conversation partner, for the first time. We just sat in Barnes and Noble and talked about random things for an hour. He's from Brazil and this is his first semester at TCU. He spoke great English! There were very few words I couldn't understand or that he didn't know. I was very impressed. We talked about different physical activities we like to do. I mentioned I played soccer for ten years, which got him pretty excited since soccer is a big sport in Brazil. It's their equivalent of football. His big sport is calf roping! I never expected that. He also likes to cycle around the hills near his home in Brazil too.

We found that we both love nature. He's from a small town and his father owns a cow farm. He spent a lot of his childhood outdoors. He described the hills and waterfalls near his home. I am very jealous of his upbringing. I would love to live in a small country town. Next time we meet he his going to bring pictures.

We discussed the differences in alcohol laws between Brazil and the U.S. The minimum drinking age in Brazil is 18 and they seem to have just as much trouble with drunk driving as we do. He was surprised when I told him that there are some establishments, like gas stations, where you can buy alcohol but are not allowed to consume it on the premises.

Overall, meeting him for the first time was a lot of fun and somewhat enlightening. I'm looking forward to our next get-together. We're going to Walmart! :P

"In a Station of the Metro" by Ezra Pound

"In a Station of the Metro" by Ezra Pound is the first poem we have read that speaks to me. Normally reading poetry is very mentally taxing for me because I am not the best at interpreting the author's meaning and purpose unless it's rather superficial and the author made no attempt to hide it. However, with this poem, I was drawn to its simplicity and juxtaposition.

When you hear the word "metro" some images that first come to mind may include crowds, dirt, trains, noise, and overall a sort of tenseness that accompanies any busy or active site. It can be a very stressful experience, one you want to be done with as soon as possible. Yet, Pound's poem gives the metro a whole different feeling. The word "apparition" evokes a sort of mystical scene. For me, the metro became significantly quieter, more mysterious. He focuses on the faces as opposed to the environment, which eliminates some of the dirtiness I associate with metros. Then Pound immediately brings in nature, which completely eliminated the hustle and bustle of the metro and instead painted a picture of peace and quiet. The poem invites the reader to imagine something natural in an urban setting.

One of the main reasons this poem spoke to me is because of the image I saw when I read "Petals on a wet, black bough." I pictured a vibrant purple flower on a tree branch dark from the rain, water clinging to the petals. I am a sucker for natural beauty and I love the rain. In my opinion, the best time for self-reflection and deep thinking is right after the rain. The world is quiet and listening. The imagery gave me calm after the chaos of a metro. The poet saw beauty in a scene often depicted as hectic and ugly. The peace it gave me was wonderful and I was surprised by it. I guess what I learned from the poem is that there can be beauty in everything if you view it through the right lens.