Nick - The Contents Of My Toolbox

I found this by Google searching "pink toolbox."

The last day of improv practice before summer, we wrote down everything we had learned all year on a chalkboard. Every technique, all the little pieces of knowledge, every improv tool we had learned, all collected in one place. We called it our Improv Toolbox. And this concept can be applied on a much wider scale.

It turns out that we can learn a lot from people. Everybody has an experience we can learn from. Everybody has that distinctive style of humor. Everybody has something that I can add to my Toolbox.

For example, let's look at Sunday Robert. Sunday Robert makes a really funny angry face sometimes. His angry impression is hilarious. Now, if I see a situation in which it would be really funny to be pretend-angry, I just pretend that I'm Sunday Robert. I pull Angry-Robert out of my Toolbox and channel his energy.

I found this by Google searching "People Trapped In A Box."

Chances are, if you've done something funny around me, I've taken it and placed it in my Toolbox for later use. In this way, I can take your interestingness and add it to my own, making me seem more interesting.

Friday Conor's Awkward Manner, Wednesday Eliot's Way Of Phrasing Things, and Sunday Robert's Texting Hearts To People are now all in my Toolbox, along with many others. I wait until I understand your particular MO, that one thing you do, or that mannerism you sometimes have, and then I capture it for myself.

It's kind of like Pokemon, but with people.

-Nick.

"This was just about the time of that Woodstock festival, which was the sum total of all this bullshit."

 Alternate title: "Well, fuck it. I wish these people would just forget about me. I wanna do something they can't possibly like, they can't relate to."

by Brendan Cavanagh

Well, with finals coming up and the semester wrapping up before summer break, I've had plenty to do.  Over the course of the next week, I'll be writing a couple English papers about William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury and James Joyce's "Araby," then a full ten-pager comparing a couple Irish films and how they exemplify themes that have arisen out of the Irish experience, followed by an education philosophy, an epic poem relating my experience shadowing an English teacher earlier this year and a handful other looming projects that I don't seem to have track of right now.

Instead of doing all this I've been exceptionally apathetic, trying to find any reason not to get some much-needed work done.  For instance, yesterday I went to CVS with a friend, came back to my dormitory and immediately got in someone else's car and went to another CVS.  I mean, a guy can only buy so much Kleenex and sweet tea, you know? So to alleviate my pain while attempting to complete the monumental amount of homework I have in store, I've made it a point to keep easy-going music playing on my iPod, in particular focusing heavily on an oft-overlooked period of Bob Dylan's career, from about 1969-1970.

After suffering a debilitating motorcycle crash in 1966, Dylan experienced an epiphany of sorts and realized how much bigger than himself he had become.  Tired of being the poster boy for the generation, he tried to fade into temporary obscurity in order to be with his family and focus on music he liked making at the time.  At this point, Dylan had sort of extricated himself from the cryptic rock n roll he became known for in the late 60s and instead decided to try his hand at country.  In 1969, he released Nashville Skyline, which despite the new, crooning voice he had picked up to match his music's sound, is actually quite good. 

 Nashville Skyline (1969)

Among the thirty-odd minutes of Nashville Skyline stand a few key tracks:

1. "I Threw It All Away"

A bittersweet song about a love he once had, and about how he took his love for granted and subsequently lost her due to carelessness.  Dylan stresses to the listener not to do the same because "love is all there is, it makes the world go 'round."

2. "Lay Lady Lay"

Dylan's big single from Nashville Skyline. As the title suggests, the song is very sexy. Unlike "I Threw It All Away," Dylan actually has a woman of his own here that he loves very much, and he pleads with her to stay the night with him and spoon a little bit. "His clothes are dirty, but his hands are clean," he comfortingly tells her, humbling himself to her beauty. To me, the song is an auditory representation of that feeling you have on a lazy summer morning, when you simply feel good without needing a reason.

The rest of the album follows in the same tradition, featuring a healthy dose of finger-picking and ragtime piano-pounding, with a nice "twang" playing throughout. In a similar fashion, Dylan's 1970 follow-up, Self Portrait, features him crooning his way through a double album of pop and folk covers and identically mellow original creations. The album was heavily lambasted by fans and critics alike (a reviewer for Rolling Stone opened his review with the line "What is this shit?"), and even Dylan has never seemed to express any profound appreciation for it.  Instead, he's argued, he was sick and tired of everyone expecting so much from him, so he scrounged together all the warm-ups and outtakes from Nashville Skyline and the later 1970 release, New Morning, and threw it on a double album ("I mean, if you're gonna put a lot of crap on it, you might as well load it up!"). 

Self Portrait (1970)

However incoherent or sloppy, more than a few tracks really appeal to me because of the down-home, easy-going sound he embraced at the time.  These have been on repeat lately:

1. "Let It Be Me"

A cover of the Everly Brothers classic (or the breath-taking Jerry Butler & Betty Everett cover). Like it does on a number of other songs from Self Portrait, the guitar in this song is smooth beyond belief. The song is so honest- the singer simply wants to be with the woman that makes him happiest.

2. "I Forgot More Than You'll Ever Know"

The best example of crooning I can provide. Dylan sings somberly about a man who stole away his lover. As time has passed, Dylan's learned to move on and forget her, but the amount of pleasing mannerisms, idiosyncrasies and sexual benefits he's had to forget infinitely surmount what the new guy will ever learn about her. An easy song to relate to- you don't get the girl you want, but you know you're the right one for her, that no one else could ever possibly know about or love her as much as you do.

3. "The Boxer"

An initially laughable, but surprisingly catchy cover of Simon & Garfunkel's hit single. Dylan double-tracks his voice on this song, essentially harmonizing with himself. A must-listen.


A couple songs on Self Portrait have a few women harmonizing the backing vocals, noticeably on "Let It Be Me." Presumably, the same women are featured every now and then on Dylan's subsequent release, New Morning, which followed a more traditional approach to the construction of an album, garnering more tolerable reviews from critics and fans. The album is striking because it is stripped down, with much less fanfare than Dylan's previous albums. Simply boasting some guitar, piano and earthy vocals, it takes some listening to to fully appreciate its simplicity.

New Morning (1970)

Two favorites:

1. "The Man In Me"

Perhaps recognizable to any fans of The Big Lebowski, as it was used several times throughout the film. While the lyrics are humble and show Dylan achingly acknowledging that this one woman is the key to bringing out his true self, one of the strongest portions of the song is when the aforementioned female harmonizers take over at the end and fade out with a repeated "Ahh-ahh-ahh" over a clanging, albeit subtle guitar riff.

2. "Day Of The Locusts"

You see, even if he tries to escape the music of his past, Dylan still contains the same feelings he once had. Instead of ragging on the self-satisfied girl in "Like A Rolling Stone" or "Positively 4th Street," Dylan's vindictive fury is released upon people that try to put him in a box, man. Specifically, when Dylan was presented with an honorary doctorate at Princeton University in June of 1970, he became aggravated by the impositions made of him- like having to wear a cap and gown in order to receive his award- and the implications of his celebrity status- like taking a limousine to the ceremony. Though his severe paranoia may have been induced by the two joints he smoked in the limo on the way there with David Crosby of The Byrds/Crosy, Stills & Nash. Either way, Dylan smartly decided to relate his feelings of being overwhelmed to the 17-year cicada infestation plaguing Princeton at the time, and came up with this song.

A lot of people tend to focus on Bob Dylan's golden period- albums like Highway 61 Revisited or Blonde on Blonde- but I think that just because his quieter, country period wasn't as popular at the time doesn't mean it isn't warranted a listen. Anyway, without all those drums and howls and harmonica solos, I find it easier to concentrate on my homework...which I will begin...nowwwwww.

The Outcast of House C

 The author struggles to choose sides.

by Brendan Cavanagh

A lot of people dislikes fraternities because they have some sort of moral objection to excessive "partying"- that is, an unabashed abuse of certain substances, most prevalently alcohol. I'm not saying I approve of underage drinking, but that's not my biggest qualm. What have really been aggravating me lately are three things:

First, that most of my freshmen brethren who are newly initiated into their respective houses have naively thrust themselves into arbitrary rivalries with other houses.

Second, that they have also bought into establishing a false facade of true brotherhood with brothers they dislike.

And third, that I have been unnecessarily ostracized for withdrawing from pledgeship just prior to initiation.

1. Last night, two prominent houses on the social scene, whom I shall refer to as House A and House B, played a massively-hyped, albeit unofficial basketball game between each other's pledge classes. Houses A and B have a well-known distaste for one another, and their respective pledge classes have previously opposed each other in sport, earlier this semester taking part in the mandatory "Freshmen Skits," a song-and-dance competition between the pledge classes of every fraternity and sorority. Much to House B's chagrin, House A placed first in Freshmen Skits, inspiring the sore losers to challenge House B to a game of basketball with the hopes of being looked upon more favorably by the rest of the campus. I am in favor of superficial rivalries between houses, to a certain extent, because as in professional sports, games are so much less meaningful when there's no emotional investment. However, after House B played a poor game last night and consequently lost, some of the young men of that pledge class took it harshly. One guy in particular walked up and down the hallway of my unit, where many of the rival brothers reside, walking into rooms and throwing a hissy fit to anyone who would put up with him. As my friends and I discussed the match with a boy from house B, the other indignant young man entered and immediately informed us, "I fucking hate House B." Looking at the smirking brother from House B beside him, he went on to say, "No, I don't even fucking care. I fucking hate those guys so much. They're fucking pussies." Well spoken. It upset me to hear that earlier, after the game, the same young man got into a row with one of his new "brothers," who tried to calm him down and tell him that it was only a game. To this he responded with, "Shut the fuck up, you fucking faggot," inciting some harsh words between the two. Smartly put, as this other guy, this brother of his, is an admitted homosexual. Which brings me to my next point:

2. How can one profess to be someone's brother, and then call him a faggot? How can anyone, in good conscience, become a member of a society that openly claims to house a group of men that are not simply friends united under a similar cause, but rather brothers who unanimously hold themselves up to standards that make them men of good repute? This is something that taught me that I did not want to go through with initiation into House C. I cannot stand hypocrisy. I cannot see myself walking around campus, pretending to love all the guys in my house, despite their faults. Learning to overcome people's negative facets and holding back criticism is one thing, but it goes against my nature to pretend I still like some douchebag for sake of holding up the house's reputation. When I dropped out of pledgeship a couple weeks ago, one of the brothers of the house sat down and had a discussion with me about my priorities. After I gave him my explanation for leaving, he was very sympathetic and understanding, but told me that the number one reason he is still involved is because he feels an inherent obligation to convert those douchebags into well-rounded and sophisticated men- a sort of noblesse oblige, if you will. I understand what he meant, and I find it admirable that he would stick with the fraternity system with the intentions of changing it for the better. I wish him luck, I really do. But I'm also very cynical sometimes, and I think sometimes bad people stay bad people, despite what I may do to change them. And I also don't feel it is within my right to change them for "the better" anyway. Or maybe I'm just lazy. Whatever it is, I don't want to join a house, knowing I don't fit in, mainly so that I can take a governmental role and hopefully churn out respectable men.

3. And finally, I'm upset because even though I explained my rationale for withdrawing to certain individuals in the house, I've since become a pariah of sorts. The newly initiated freshmen have been cool about it- I still hang out with the ones I'm actually friends with. I expect they know how I'm feeling, seeing as they are currently in a position where they're assessing the house's strengths and weaknesses and determining if it's right for them, and they're freshmen, so they know firsthand how hard it can be to find one's true identity at this age. But some of the older guys, who have lived in the house for a couple years now and have fully committed themselves, are less understanding. Perhaps they're angry because I didn't consult any of them before making my decision, or maybe they're doing the opposite of what I told them to do, and they're taking it personally. Either way, some of the nicest guys in the house a couple weeks ago are now the ones who barely acknowledge me when I pass by and say hello on campus.And that's aggravating. I'm not an asshole; I didn't drop out simply to spite any of them. But at the same time, I'm not bothered by their change in behavior because I would not want to claim virtual consanguinity with people who are so narrow-minded that they can't accept that someone's made a  decision in his best interest. To be fair, a lot of the brothers are still nice to me. I've been told by a few that I'm always welcome back and they respect my decision. I was accosted on my way into the library yesterday, even, when a brother asked me how I was doing- about ten times. I think he thought I was severely depressed about it or something.

To summarize, I'm really very happy I didn't join a fraternity. I can't put up with unprovoked hostility between houses, and I certainly cannot tolerate exemplifying false ideals. And it's tough to experience firsthand animosity from brothers who feel spited, and to hear from a newly initiated friend that some of the guys in the house still hold rancor against me. I haven't had many people to whom I can articulate all these tempestuous thoughts, which makes me thankful I have this blog to assemble everything in a less-than-coherent blog post. Even if none of my friends or family members read this, I can always count on my cult status in Denmark to earn me a few page views this weekend.

Just BU

 by Brendan Cavanagh

I saw someone the other day wearing a shirt that simply said in block letters, "Just BU." While the logo clearly advertised our school- that is, Butler University- it got me thinking. It's important to be your own person, without any false ties to people or organizations that do not precisely match your interests. It takes a long time to fully understand how to belong to a group and yet still retain your own identity. I could have been one unique person within a fraternity of various characters. But I gradually discovered that I would much rather be one of several of my type instead. Out of context, the following quote sort of describes my rationale for leaving. Substitute the tone of conformity for finding that perfect fit:

"I was raised up believing / I was somehow unique / Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes / Unique in each way you can see / And now after some thinking / I would much rather be / A functioning cog in some great machinery / Serving something beyond me"
       --Fleet Foxes, from "Helplessness Blues"

After nearly three months of pledging a fraternity here on campus, I decided to withdraw and remain with a group of friends in which I feel like I belong. And that's okay. I'm not cut out to be part of a fraternity, I don't think. It's not that I disagree with the ideals of the fraternity, but I don't think I could falsely exemplify a particular image associated with the house and its individual members, even a benign one. I'd rather have my image here on campus shaped over time by my actions, even if they're bad. I don't care. As long as it's my image, not the image I would immediately be assigned the moment I donned the letters of a fraternity.

"I desire that there may be as many different persons in the world as possible; but I would have each one be very careful to find out and pursue his own way, and not his father's or his mother's or his neighbor's instead."
       --Henry David Thoreau, from Walden

I don't know, maybe I'm inherently a rebel. I may not have a red windbreaker, and I've certainly never placed a bucket of porridge on top of a door for someone to wear as a hat when they walk through that door. But I've never been too interested in belonging to any organization that shackles me to a core set of beliefs, no matter how few or harmless. Maybe I've seen Cool Hand Luke ten too many times, but that's just me.

In a way, I'm proud of myself for declining to join. As mammoth as an opportunity as joining the frat was, I think it shows strong self-examination and keen judgment to be able to say no. I mean, I didn't simply not "feel like" doing it, and I wasn't childishly afraid of the consequences of joining, so I feel like I really weighed the options wisely. Even if withdrawing means I miss out on certain opportunities, so be it. I've essentially taken a left instead of a right in the proverbial yellow wood.

"And I- / I took the road less traveled by / And that has made all the difference."
       --Robert Frost, from "The Road Not Taken"

Finally, I'd like to share some memorable words from a book I just read. Yeah. For recreation.

"So I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them."
       --Charlie, from Stephen Chbotsky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Obviously we don't know what ramifications will arise out of each decision we make, big or small. But so long as we remain confident that we are making the best decision for ourselves and we're happy with ourselves for doing so, our choices will not have been made in vain. I opted out of joining a fraternity in favor of remaining true to my principles and forging my own path through college. And that, I've found, has made all the difference.