Thursday Night Rambling Blues

by Brendan Cavanagh

I didn't have time today to sit down and write a cohesive post of appropriate length, so here's a collection of things I'm thinking right now.

I had to make a five-minute presentation about my progression through any childhood, cognitive theorist's theoretic stages of development. Basically an excuse to show five minutes of baby pictures and cute c0lLeGe  pix. I hastily assembled the video at the last minute, and added some music to the beginning to make it more dramatic. Needless to say, it went well. Nobody knew I was the sibling of triplets, so that portion of the video got a lot of attention. Nice! Easy-A. But anyway, looking through my childhood pictures, I just felt so old. My innocent, childhood self even looked different than me. I felt like a corrupted, distorted version of that boy. Not that I hate myself or anything, but I guess I just can't fathom the amount of significant change that has taken place in my life since then. I mean, we have iPods and cell phones that are ten times smaller than Zach Morris'. Our President is an African American! Look how far we've come.

Speaking of Saved By the Bell...let's talk about that. You know, when I first started watching it, in junior high, I despised it wholeheartedly, but watched it every day before school for an hour anyway because it was the only sitcom on at six or seven in the morning. Over time, as I watched it for several years in a row before school each morning, I grew to appreciate its ridiculousness, like the time senior year when Zach tried to prevent a frantic Jessie from popping caffeine pills before the big video shoot.

I already appreciated the Joker playing card before The Dark Knight came out.

More saved By the Bell...check out this parody, about A.C. Slater's life after Bayside High.

I'm sad that my poetry class is over for the year. It really kept me motivated in writing poetry, and I felt like I was expressing myself more articulately and artfully than I had in a long while. I want to keep writing poetry and honing my skill. Here's one that I've written that I'm proud of:

Lady Rose

Again incapable of speech I watch
as across the windswept street
shuffles the nerve-wracked Lady Rose
bearing and untidy assortment of empty letters
the black ink bleeding upon faded-yellow sheets
reminiscent  of the wrought-iron gate impaling
a pool of fallen leaves outside
her isolated mansion existence.
She wouldn't let you know it
                         I know it
                         after many years of keen observation
                         from my post along the wide window
                         at the corner coffee-house
                         beside the post office
but she once lived a life of luxury
as evidenced by the floral French fragrance
stemming from the neck of her beaten frame
and which wafts to where I sit still speechless
at the cafe's only outside table
in the first merciful days of April.

After her husband passed
hardly any of her ample inheritance
could save her home, like her countenance
from wilting into sun-dried disrepair.
                          I was there.
                          I watched detached as always
                          while her husbands life spilled out
                          in silent streams from his thick neck
                          as he mouthed helplessly
                          "Rose...Rose."
                          I knew then that I could make my lady happy thereafter.

Each subsequent Friday afternoon
she passes my post to deliver her post
where I sit still and aware, always aware
that I'll never be able to reveal
my unspoken deed of unrequited passion
forever doomed to murmur weakly
"Rose...Rose."

Just a Small-town...Boy!

So Conor's post made me rather nostalgic about my own childhood. And by childhood I mean everything up to 4th grade, when Blessed Sacrament ruined it all.

Anyway, a fun fact about me that many of you may not know; I grew up in a small town, Girard, and I sort of consider myself a small town kid in many ways. Sure, I was born in Springfield and lived in a too-small piece-o-crap house for the first couple years of my life, but no one really remembers that time in their life, so it doesn't count.

I loved my house in Girard, exponentially more than the house I live in now. There are so many good memories in that place. In our house now, there's always something else that needs to be fixed or remodeled, but that house in Girard...man, that place was perfect. Maybe I'm just saying that because I was little then and didn't know shit about such things, but I wouldn't have changed a thing about that house. I had a pretty big, fenced-in backyard. There was this tree back there that was the best tree ever for climbing. It was really pretty and my mom could watch me out the kitchen window and man, did I climb that tree a lot. Being at the top of that tree was the best damn thing ever. I ran the world from up there.

Right next to my tree was my swing-set. I spent more time on that thing than doing anything else. I'd pretty much play on it every way you weren't suppose to. Gotta keep things interesting.

But the piece de resistance was absolutely my basketball court. Yeah, I had a legitimate half court basketball court in my backyard. Suck it. I used to be pretty good at basketball, considering all the hoops I would shoot.

What I really miss about living in Girard, though, was the atmosphere. I knew my neighbors and everything was in walking distance. There was a square (YUUUUP) with a playground in the middle that kicked ass. There was also this drug store owned by these twin old guys, Bob and Bill, and they made the best milkshakes there. And there was this other place called Whirl-A-Whip, which was only open in the summer. I was never really a huge fan of their food, but there was this one milkshake that I could never get enough of. The cinnamon twist milkshake is legendary. I've made trips back to Girard just to get one.

Next time I go back, who wants to come with meeeeeee? =D

-Classic

Why our posts sometimes suck

Classic Brian. It is a fun blog to write for. I cannot emphasize how thankful I am that we started this blog up. However, as much as all fun things are, it can be a bit of an obligation at times. Namely, when I'm hanging out with people on Wednesdays. This is typically problematic in the summertime (it's Summer! 2011 here we go woot woot yeayayaeya!), and most prevalently, it's a problem right now.

When one of us has to post and we're in the midst of socializing with friends, Classic Brian becomes a hasty struggle to give something semi-presentable or at least chuckle worthy whilst not at all trying. I typically write long posts. But let's not kid ourselves, I'm not giving you my full attention, so I'm not going to drone on and on about something that you and I both know I don't care about.

Instead I offer this post to you as an apology for this post, along with all other posts done by CB members in social settings. Additionally, I will provide you with several examples of Classic Brian posts completed in the midst of others.

(Don't) Enjoy!

http://classicbrian.blogspot.com/2011/05/summertime.html

http://classicbrian.blogspot.com/2011/04/nick-kids-show.html

http://classicbrian.blogspot.com/2011/04/story-madam.html

http://classicbrian.blogspot.com/2011/04/tynan-creator.html

http://classicbrian.blogspot.com/2011/03/sb-dub-11-whoo.html

http://classicbrian.blogspot.com/2011/03/u-of-irobot.html

http://classicbrian.blogspot.com/2011/03/kiss-my-assistant-editor.html

http://classicbrian.blogspot.com/2011/01/conor-road-to-hell.html

http://classicbrian.blogspot.com/2010/11/ramblings-and-runnings-from-me-to-us.html

Hope you're feeling nostalgic! Have a good Wednesday Classics.

--Eliot Sill

NOSTALGIA

by Brendan Cavanagh

I'm only nineteen years old, but I get about as nostalgic as an eighty year-old man sometimes.  And not just about the good times, but about the bad times, too.  I don't know why.  Do I wish I could go back and relive certain experiences in order to relive their value?  Do I wish I could correct past behavior?  Or am I dissatisfied with the present?  All of the above?  Yeah.

What causes my reminiscent behavior?  I believe a big factor is my indulgent pastime of listening to way too much music, and aligning my experiences with specific songs or albums.  Of the 7,000+ songs I've amassed so far in my iTunes, record and CD collection, almost every one relates to a particular period of my life.

Let's take The Band, for instance.  In the summer of 2009 I was faced with the task of completing six large novels for my AP English class, not to mention as many volumes of Harry Potter I could squeeze in between.  That summer I was infatuated with my mother's old portable turntable and my then-growing record collection, so certain favored records were played frequently as soundtracks to the books I was reading.  I had had a copy of The Band's 1969 eponymous album (jokingly referred to as the Brown Album, a take on the Beatles' eponymous White Album) since the previous Christmas, but before June I had really only acquainted myself with Side A, erroneously assuming off limited exposure that the album was front-loaded.  As I progressed through the first few novels, I simultaneously grew to appreciate all aspects of the Brown Album, which surprisingly displayed no wear-and-tear after so many revolutions.  By the time I worked my way into William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying, The Band had quickly become one of my favorite albums of all time, and so much so that the visage of each member of the group became assimilated into my envisioning of the novel.  For example, my favorite character, Darl, was portrayed by the Band's drummer, Levon Helm, and his brother Jewel was played by Garth Hudson, the stellar organist (to name a few).  Now, whenever I listen to that album, which is drenched in deep-South Americana, all I can conjure up in my mind are scenes from As I Lay Dying, but more significantly my exhilaration from spending each day that summer poring over six incredible novels (make it five, I hated Toni Morrison's Beloved).  I haven't been able to recreate those circumstances since then, since no summer is ever the same, and then again, what kind of favorable situation is ever the same twice?

The Band has also found its way into another one of my most recalled memories.  The summer of 2009 was my last summer running with Sacred-Heart Griffin's cross country team, one of the few organizations I've been affiliated with in which I've felt I truly belong.  After practice each morning I'd come home, drink a glass of grapefruit juice with a multivitamin as the main course, take a shower and jump into bed at about 9:30 a.m., iPod in tow.  I'd usually listen to one song on the album ("Look Out Cleveland," for instance) and then follow that up by "Whispering Pines", which would knock me out for a couple hours (but I may have passed out each day from the gripping turmoil of the abominable combination of an empty stomach and a multivitamin).  That was something I looked forward to each day.  Feeling productive for running the most amount of mileage I had ever done and being rewarded by laying in bed in a dark and cool bedroom, listening to music that had a certain resonance at the time.

Cross country is probably what I'm most nostalgic about these days.  There was something about growing as a runner and a person as I matured and progressed through each season.  Nothing makes me happier to think about than warm, soft, sleepy summer light streaming down through trees in bloom along Feldkamp, heading towards Washington Park.  Running with my friends, or even running alone (because if I ran alone, I allowed myself to stop short and take a bathroom break in the veritable sauna that is Washington Park's bathroom).  The memories are strong enough to recall on their own, but what really helps is listening to the music I listened to at that time each year.  For instance, when I listen to the Kingston Trio's Greatest Hits or Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited I imagine myself sleepily driving my sister and myself to and from practice, as those CDs were played heavily in the family minivan at the time.

And like the summer of 2009, each summer meant a new set of novels to complete for school, though from freshman-junior year I was only required two texts.  I'd come home from practice in 2006 and cruise through Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer or George Orwell's 1984 on my mattress which was then placed groovily on my bedroom floor rather than on a frame.  I believe the soundtrack that summer was Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" and Willie Nelson's album Stardust.  Sophomore year I'd curl up on the couch every morning after practice and read Alan Paton's Cry, the Beloved Country or Linda Sue Park's When My Name Was Keoko (a wild card; this book was purely juvenile) while jamming to the latest Harry Potter soundtrack- the Order of the Phoenix in particular.  Then I'd sprawl out and watch episodes of Monty Python's Flying Circus while munching on this awesome white pasta dish my mommy would make specially for me when I asked for it.  Junior year was a bit different- I recall trying to replicate what I had done the previous summer by reading John Knowle's A Separate Peace on the couch with my iPod, but unfortunately I was unable to evoke the same feelings I felt when I'd fondly recollect the previous summer.  And when it came time to read Cormac McCarthy's The Road (my least favorite book ever), I was all over the place- on the road, in fact, touring colleges with my cousin, which turned out to be a highly memorable, now nostalgia-inducing vacation.  As you can see, no summer is ever the same, but each has some facet about itself that cause me to look back and miss it.

A short list of songs/albums and their corresponding, recent memories:
1. Richard Pryor's Anthology 1968-1992
 - Late school nights hanging out downstairs in deep winter of 2009
2. Kid Cudi's Man on the Moon
- First good high school parties on late winter nights in 2009
3. "Santa-Fe" by Bob Dylan and "Ragged Wood" by Fleet Foxes
- A week's stay at my cousin's in St. Louis in Summer 2009
4. "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" by Wilco
- Driving down MacArthur Blvd. in snowy weather
5. MGMT's Congratulations
-Driving through Leland Grove aimlessly at 6:30 a.m. the morning after Springfield High's Prom/morning of my graduation (same day), looking for someone's house (never made it) in spring 2010.  Also reminds me of the entirety of 2010 from April on, as I listened to it every day (I just want to link this song, it's been stuck in my head for a few days because it's awesome)
6. "Dance Yrself Clean" by LCD Soundsystem - Summer nights of 2010

I realize nothing in this post is applicable to anyone who reads it besides me (and maybe I'm the only one reading it, therefore YEAH! 100% applicable blog post).  What I hope I impart to you is that this is the modus operandi of my mind; this is how I go about most of the time- not only hearkening back on past experiences, but relating them to the present, problem-solving and all that jazz.  At the very least, I hope I've made it clear that music and how it ties into my life is very important to me.  If anything, you've got a number of solid links.  But my point is that I'm the kind of guy who will detect the unmistakable scent of a certain shampoo and immediately be drawn to winter of freshman year when I was reading the abridged version of Charles Dickens' Great Expectations for my English class, which further makes me remember that I supplemented that reading with the Essential Dean Martin.  Maybe it's simply some sort of idiot-savant, audiographic or scenographic memory, but these are memories that are somewhat comforting to me, which is ironic because they only make me pine after the past and momentarily fail to acknowledge the current pleasures of the present.  But as a matter of fact, I've actually gotten better at living in the present lately.  Well, not entirely.  I'm still unbelievably nostalgic, but I don't let it bother me.  I just realized that what's happening to me in the present is something that I will indubitably will become nostalgic about in the future.  If I immediately look back fondly on classes I used to despise the moment I begin the next school year, then yeah, I'll probably enjoy my present situation sometime in the future.

Nick - Pokemon!

To most of you it was probably a phase. You brought the cards to school, or you played Red or Blue version as a kid. But Pokemon was something I never grew out of. We got to hear about Brendan's love for Harry Potter, and now it's my turn.

I don't remember how old I was.. My parents got me Pokemon Red; my second ever game for my GameBoy Pocket. And I dived right in. I couldn't read. I had no idea what was going on, story-wise. But I knew that I had a Pokemon of my very own. I think I can trace the moment that I started loving Pokemon back to when I got to choose my first one. Basically I stumbled around in the grass outside of Pallet Town, oblivious to what anybody was trying to say to me. I battled on with my Squirtle, a duo determined to conquer this small patch of grass.

I somehow got further into the game and built a team; I remember very little about all of this. I know I had a Pidgey, a Vileplume, and two Gravelers; it wasn't a very good team. But it was mine, and nothing brought my childish mind more pleasure than having a team of my very own. I loved the feeling of catching a new Pokemon to put on my team.

And then I got older, and I learned how to read, and I learned which moves were awesome and which type was strong against another type, and started to implement some strategy. I still love putting together combinations of Pokemon, seeing which ones work well with one another. There are a limitless number of ways you can build your team, and that facts still bears weight in my mind.

I feel that as I grow older, my relationship with Pokemon changes to reflect that, but the core feeling hasn't changed. There is still no more powerful feeling that starting out with just myself, my first Pokemon, and a world filled with limitless potential. I associate it with the feeling of adventure. Like the beginning of summer, the beginning of a game of Pokemon invigorates me. I want to smell the summer air, start an adventure, and dive into that first patch of grass, just me and my Pokemon.

-Nick.