Last week I wrote about how we should all avoid collapsing far into the depths of the St. Lawrence social network, and the importance of acknowledging the reasons we are here, those which can easily become mundane. That was a recap; it seemed more lighthearted in the actual column. This week, contrary yet slyly complimentary to last week’s column, I want to stress the importance of frivolity.
Last year, I took a writing course during which the topic of daydreaming came up. People were self-conscious about the subjects of their daydreams, but there was no doubt that everybody did, in fact, daydream. However, there was one exception. A lowly, highly beauty shopped coed sitting in the front row. She expressed to the class that she didn’t really understand what we were talking about, that she had never “daydreamed” before and thought it sounded immature. I thought she sounded dumb.
Now I will say an opinion that I have and you will agree or disagree, but can’t argue with me because you’re reading a newspaper. Not daydreaming or fantasizing is indicative of a much larger characteristic of being a generally dull human being who will do little with their life. The individual I’m talking about has graduated already and I would try to imagine a day in her shoes but it’s tough imagining what it’s like not imagining.
What can we assume about the lackluster student? First of all, that she has no aspirations. You need to imagine something to aspire to it. Also, she has something very substantial on her mind constantly, probably gymnastics or sudoku, leaving absolutely no time for her mind to wander. Let’s also assume she is a horrible storyteller. And she is always very well kempt because she can’t imagine the right guy coming along and falling in love with her even though she’s just in her jammies. She’s awful and she’s out in society bringing other people down to her level of depressing nonbeing.
We need to steer clear of her approach to living. I fantasize on an hourly basis; it’s how I accomplish things. It’s how I will accomplish things. Plus, fanaticizing is fun. I don’t get that many chances to be a badass, but when I’m walking to class and I imagine a that I just got back to school after escaping a hostage situation in the Middle East, I am a badass. Then I go to class and feel way cooler than everyone else having not actually accomplished anything. There is, of course, a delicate balance between daydreaming and living in a fantasy world, but having real conversations with real people makes that issue futile.
You don’t have to daydream all of the time; it’s just a great way to stop taking yourself so seriously. Laughing, and joking are also good methods. All I am saying is we have a lot of cool kids on campus, kids that need to lighten up a little or they’re going to end up like my former classmate. If you ever need inspiration for fantasy, try going to Stewarts (see past Boot ‘n Paddle).
30 March 2008
Boot 'n Paddle - Spring '08
College, St. Lawrence, the basic concept, is odd when you think about it.
Think about it. When we turn a certain age, once we’ve achieved a certain level of accomplishment, our parents send us off to a communal living situation where our seniors teach us the information they think we should know during our lifetime. They pack us in together, within the confines of a few acres, where we have everything we need and want to live. We sit, everyday, lined up in rows staring blankly at our mentors as they transfer their knowledge into our brains. And dining halls? Weird!
Not to suggest that it is, but college can be very cult-like. I think it’s fair to say that cults are often times negligent of the outside world. Sometimes truth, commonsense, rationality, and consequence have a way of slipping through the cracks here in the collegiate realm. As we wend our ways through a lifestyle of repetition, it’s very easy to get caught up in a humdrum of nothingness. Days and nights littered with work, friends, and the same sidewalks bleed into one another; the more time we spend in this whirlwind, the more our lives revolve around what happens on this tiny campus. But this, of course, defeats the purpose of college!
What a depressing outlook! Wrap your brains around this! Contrary to the first paragraph let me depict a different scenario of academia. For eighteen or so years, our parents and communities prepare us for four years of intense training, where a field of experts will tell us everything they know. Even cooler… we spend four years training for a secret mission. We learn everything we can and then infiltrate the public sector where we create results; we use our super-knowledge to make this a better place to live. My version of this scenario also includes a lot of blue lighting, passwords, and someone with a headset walkie-talkie on. And, there’s a phone in the corner that connects straight to the president.
One version is cynical, the other is slightly exaggerated. Compromise, meld the two together to make a truly effective and enjoyable college experience that will benefit both ourselves and others. Hey, listen. When we hear about dogs that are locked in their house all day we feel bad for them. Right? So how can we get mad at them for pooping on the duvet? But if that dog had a human brain, hands, feet, and the capacity for sensibility, then that dog should be punished.
Think about it. When we turn a certain age, once we’ve achieved a certain level of accomplishment, our parents send us off to a communal living situation where our seniors teach us the information they think we should know during our lifetime. They pack us in together, within the confines of a few acres, where we have everything we need and want to live. We sit, everyday, lined up in rows staring blankly at our mentors as they transfer their knowledge into our brains. And dining halls? Weird!
Not to suggest that it is, but college can be very cult-like. I think it’s fair to say that cults are often times negligent of the outside world. Sometimes truth, commonsense, rationality, and consequence have a way of slipping through the cracks here in the collegiate realm. As we wend our ways through a lifestyle of repetition, it’s very easy to get caught up in a humdrum of nothingness. Days and nights littered with work, friends, and the same sidewalks bleed into one another; the more time we spend in this whirlwind, the more our lives revolve around what happens on this tiny campus. But this, of course, defeats the purpose of college!
What a depressing outlook! Wrap your brains around this! Contrary to the first paragraph let me depict a different scenario of academia. For eighteen or so years, our parents and communities prepare us for four years of intense training, where a field of experts will tell us everything they know. Even cooler… we spend four years training for a secret mission. We learn everything we can and then infiltrate the public sector where we create results; we use our super-knowledge to make this a better place to live. My version of this scenario also includes a lot of blue lighting, passwords, and someone with a headset walkie-talkie on. And, there’s a phone in the corner that connects straight to the president.
One version is cynical, the other is slightly exaggerated. Compromise, meld the two together to make a truly effective and enjoyable college experience that will benefit both ourselves and others. Hey, listen. When we hear about dogs that are locked in their house all day we feel bad for them. Right? So how can we get mad at them for pooping on the duvet? But if that dog had a human brain, hands, feet, and the capacity for sensibility, then that dog should be punished.
10 February 2008
Boot 'n Paddle - February 1, 2008
I wrote the following Boot ‘n Paddle on January 13, 2008 (during winter break).
For anyone who wants to get in “the mood,” pop on a Leonard Cohen album and just stand there, or sit there. Do anything. You can’t avoid it. The mood I am talking about, of course, is disheartened and dejected. I just did that, and I have got to say, it is working. I’m several miles from the nearest person, I just ate six ounces of hummus for dinner, and today I spent over an hour sitting in a Stewarts. If you haven’t, I highly suggest spending some time in a Stewarts.
It’s actually pretty amazing what they have managed to do. Somehow, they have made a simple gas station/convenience store into the epicenter of many communities. They have wiggly hotdogs, mediocre soups, and weird hamburgers, but something draws people in, something makes people feel unaccomplished if they haven’t stopped into Stewarts at some point during the day. I went twice today.
Not to get too far off topic (I think it will come soon), I don’t smoke, but last week I went into a Stewarts and bought a pack of cigarettes because it felt like the right thing to do. If you want to quit smoking, I suggest not throwing your abused cigarettes out of your car window. I put my fashionably, dramatically smoked cigarettes in an old Altoids tin and was amazed at how fast they added up. The substantiation was astounding!
Cool story, huh? So, I’m sitting all by myself, next to a pleasant little woodstove, beside a very drab Lake Champlain, and it hits me! Leonard Cohen might be encouraging pitiful emotions, but don’t let the first three paragraphs fool you; I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Besides the aesthetic qualities of my current location (a secret!), it is just fantastic to be alone ¬¬–– wait, I’ve got a few more thoughts on Stewarts.
We all love their classic fountain sodas, e.g. key lime and cherry cream, but their other Stewarts brand products are awful. I think it might be the packaging. The sodas are glass, which is shiny and alluring, and makes me really want to drink them, but the bags of chips are brown and depressing, which makes me assume they are the kind that will make the roof of my mouth bleed. I thought it was standard practice for salt & vinegar to incorporate blue packaging.
Anyway, I’ll bet if you’re reading this you’re not alone, not that you should be; reading Boot ‘n Paddle alone can be really depressing. However, think about ditching your friends once in a while. Ditch Ricky’s awesome anecdotes and Candace and her black light posters. If you’re looking for ideas, hanging out at Stewarts does count as being alone. I’ve never felt more alone than at the end of an hour spent in Stewarts
For anyone who wants to get in “the mood,” pop on a Leonard Cohen album and just stand there, or sit there. Do anything. You can’t avoid it. The mood I am talking about, of course, is disheartened and dejected. I just did that, and I have got to say, it is working. I’m several miles from the nearest person, I just ate six ounces of hummus for dinner, and today I spent over an hour sitting in a Stewarts. If you haven’t, I highly suggest spending some time in a Stewarts.
It’s actually pretty amazing what they have managed to do. Somehow, they have made a simple gas station/convenience store into the epicenter of many communities. They have wiggly hotdogs, mediocre soups, and weird hamburgers, but something draws people in, something makes people feel unaccomplished if they haven’t stopped into Stewarts at some point during the day. I went twice today.
Not to get too far off topic (I think it will come soon), I don’t smoke, but last week I went into a Stewarts and bought a pack of cigarettes because it felt like the right thing to do. If you want to quit smoking, I suggest not throwing your abused cigarettes out of your car window. I put my fashionably, dramatically smoked cigarettes in an old Altoids tin and was amazed at how fast they added up. The substantiation was astounding!
Cool story, huh? So, I’m sitting all by myself, next to a pleasant little woodstove, beside a very drab Lake Champlain, and it hits me! Leonard Cohen might be encouraging pitiful emotions, but don’t let the first three paragraphs fool you; I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Besides the aesthetic qualities of my current location (a secret!), it is just fantastic to be alone ¬¬–– wait, I’ve got a few more thoughts on Stewarts.
We all love their classic fountain sodas, e.g. key lime and cherry cream, but their other Stewarts brand products are awful. I think it might be the packaging. The sodas are glass, which is shiny and alluring, and makes me really want to drink them, but the bags of chips are brown and depressing, which makes me assume they are the kind that will make the roof of my mouth bleed. I thought it was standard practice for salt & vinegar to incorporate blue packaging.
Anyway, I’ll bet if you’re reading this you’re not alone, not that you should be; reading Boot ‘n Paddle alone can be really depressing. However, think about ditching your friends once in a while. Ditch Ricky’s awesome anecdotes and Candace and her black light posters. If you’re looking for ideas, hanging out at Stewarts does count as being alone. I’ve never felt more alone than at the end of an hour spent in Stewarts
07 December 2007
Boot 'n Paddle - December 7, 2007
Five months ago I was assaulted by a school of brook trout. Following the attack, I was told that I would never write Boot ‘n Paddle again. They said that due to the vicious nature of the creatures and the mob-mentality that I was exposed to, it would be traumatizing for me to consider the masses reading my column. Doctors, psychologists, psychoanalysts and my neighbor, Barry, all told me to step down. They said there would be no shame in taking certain precautions in order to prevent severe mental agony.
“But it isn’t that simple!” I would say. “Can you ask the sky to stop being blue? Or the ocean deep? Can you ask a mountain to stop being mighty? Or ask a whale to stop being bulky? Can you tell a love song to stop being tender? Can you ask Mad Magazine to stop being hilarious? A light luminous? Tape sticky? Brook trout…merciless?”
This last one would always quiet the whole room, because they were still uncomfortable with the nature of my attack, and negate the reasoning behind their request.
What I am saying is I had to keep writing Boot ‘n Paddle because it had become a part of being Alex. Boot ‘n Paddle was inherent in my Alex. I mean, can you ask a sponge to not absor–– oh wait, I already did that.
This is my 20th Boot ‘n Paddle. Five months ago I had only written ten. Therefore, I have written ten post-brook trout Boot ‘n Paddles. Twenty may not sound like that many, but consider for a moment trying to come up with a creative idea every single Tuesday in addition to all other commitments. Consider finding the confidence to write something that will be read by everyone who stumbles upon The Hill News. It can’t be stagnant or repetitive of past columns but instead something fresh, something that the reader hasn’t seen on television or read in their favorite magazine. It has to be a formulation of the thoughts and feelings that the readers have all had but aren’t able render. Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote, “Easy reading is damn hard writing,” and I think he’s right on. Think about having to wrestle the ideas inside your head and pin them down onto the paper in such a way that the reader will know exactly what you mean. Consider writing a column that you know people will bad-mouth and criticize. Then consider for a moment typing that column on a keyboard without any fingernails because they were chewed off by unrelenting brook trout.
“But it isn’t that simple!” I would say. “Can you ask the sky to stop being blue? Or the ocean deep? Can you ask a mountain to stop being mighty? Or ask a whale to stop being bulky? Can you tell a love song to stop being tender? Can you ask Mad Magazine to stop being hilarious? A light luminous? Tape sticky? Brook trout…merciless?”
This last one would always quiet the whole room, because they were still uncomfortable with the nature of my attack, and negate the reasoning behind their request.
What I am saying is I had to keep writing Boot ‘n Paddle because it had become a part of being Alex. Boot ‘n Paddle was inherent in my Alex. I mean, can you ask a sponge to not absor–– oh wait, I already did that.
This is my 20th Boot ‘n Paddle. Five months ago I had only written ten. Therefore, I have written ten post-brook trout Boot ‘n Paddles. Twenty may not sound like that many, but consider for a moment trying to come up with a creative idea every single Tuesday in addition to all other commitments. Consider finding the confidence to write something that will be read by everyone who stumbles upon The Hill News. It can’t be stagnant or repetitive of past columns but instead something fresh, something that the reader hasn’t seen on television or read in their favorite magazine. It has to be a formulation of the thoughts and feelings that the readers have all had but aren’t able render. Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote, “Easy reading is damn hard writing,” and I think he’s right on. Think about having to wrestle the ideas inside your head and pin them down onto the paper in such a way that the reader will know exactly what you mean. Consider writing a column that you know people will bad-mouth and criticize. Then consider for a moment typing that column on a keyboard without any fingernails because they were chewed off by unrelenting brook trout.
03 December 2007
Boot 'n Paddle - End of November
I’m really getting sick of people being good-humored and having fun. It’s the smiles and head nodding, the eye contact and gentle shoulder grabbing that’ve got me so down. Yesterday I saw two friends (not mine) talking and laughing together and I wanted to push them into a river.
Right now it’s snowing outside, symbolic of death, and people are playing. To me, having a snowball fight sounds great. It means I get to whitewash my little sister until she cries. Outside, they’re having a snowball fight but they’re having fun––
Actually, wait. Maybe, I’m wrong. Maybe I just never learned that the definition of fight involves the word frivolity. Or –– probably even more likely –– a group of scientists got together and decided that the rules of competition don’t apply to snowball fights. As if! It’s just people being immature. It reminds me of my intellectual capacity at age six.
Me. I’ve learned that smiling is a sure sign of imminent failure. Despite my parents’ influence (they are disgustingly happy), through extensive self-discipline and punishment, I have learned to never give someone the upper hand by smiling at them. If you smile at someone, you are showing them that they are more capable at something than you, making someone smile. On occasion I will smirk at the psychological anguish of others, but at that point I’m already the victor.
Hold it…. I haven’t been totally honest with you. I’m not really upset with people being happy! Those people I saw? I talked to them! I told them a joke and they laughed! The snow? It was beautiful! My friends playing outside? My friends! Smiling? Forever!
Gosh! I’m at my desk listening to A Charlie Brown Christmas and I’ll tell you nothing can get me down. It’s winter, there’s snow outside, there are only a few days until I start my advent calendar and¬¬––
(Mumbled voice from offstage)
Alex: What?
Offstage: Your sister was eaten by seals.
Alex: Oh.
Right now it’s snowing outside, symbolic of death, and people are playing. To me, having a snowball fight sounds great. It means I get to whitewash my little sister until she cries. Outside, they’re having a snowball fight but they’re having fun––
Actually, wait. Maybe, I’m wrong. Maybe I just never learned that the definition of fight involves the word frivolity. Or –– probably even more likely –– a group of scientists got together and decided that the rules of competition don’t apply to snowball fights. As if! It’s just people being immature. It reminds me of my intellectual capacity at age six.
Me. I’ve learned that smiling is a sure sign of imminent failure. Despite my parents’ influence (they are disgustingly happy), through extensive self-discipline and punishment, I have learned to never give someone the upper hand by smiling at them. If you smile at someone, you are showing them that they are more capable at something than you, making someone smile. On occasion I will smirk at the psychological anguish of others, but at that point I’m already the victor.
Hold it…. I haven’t been totally honest with you. I’m not really upset with people being happy! Those people I saw? I talked to them! I told them a joke and they laughed! The snow? It was beautiful! My friends playing outside? My friends! Smiling? Forever!
Gosh! I’m at my desk listening to A Charlie Brown Christmas and I’ll tell you nothing can get me down. It’s winter, there’s snow outside, there are only a few days until I start my advent calendar and¬¬––
(Mumbled voice from offstage)
Alex: What?
Offstage: Your sister was eaten by seals.
Alex: Oh.
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