Winter Poem: Chicago Winter (12-15-11)

           Snowflakes cascade from the sky in millions, latching on to outdoor Christmas decorations like a baby monkey clings to her mother, as well as on the ground, forming a military that can only be surmounted by the sun in its bright glory. Lights in a plethora of hues are strewn across the dark city, icicles are glued to people's noses, the brutal wind penetrates the pores, rendering them useless. The cold temperatures send sharp knife-like spikes into the human body, carving it into a sculpture resembling a hunk of Swiss cheese, delicate and riddled with dozens of holes. The days flee in seemingly infinitesimal seconds, while the nights stretch on as the moors of England do, endless and dreary. Incessant sneezes and coughs chase each other in rapid succession without apology, stumbling after each other like tired schoolchildren. Blowing noses, "bless you," and "wash your hands!" add more noise to the chorus. Throngs of feet clad in Ugg boots rush to their destinations, bulldozing anyone crossing their paths-these people are the epitome of a perfect juggernaut. Shopping bags hang on people's arms like decorations on a Christmas tree. Stores are bombarded by people jousting for pieces of cheap plastic. Any breaths in the frosty air convert to an odd smoke that hangs above one's head, never quite leaving. Slush covers the street in a dirty gray blanket, concealing the new black pavement. Snow plows are out in force; protecting the world against the horrors of deep snow. Scarves are wrapped around the faces of passerby, which are therefore inscrutable.  But one cannot deny the agate blue sky witnessed in the fleeting day, the euphoria of receiving Christmas presents, the cavorting that comes with a snowball fight, the triumphant feeling of braving a blizzard, and of course, basking in your well heated home, awaiting the long winter days to come. But all things must come to an end, even Chicago winters.

12/12/11: Where did you go, J.D.?

            J.D. Salinger-legendary author of Catcher in the Rye (and other works) died last year a social recluse. What led him to become like this? Perhaps fame was simply "not his cup of tea." He thought the more precise his work became, the more removed he must be from the public eye. Fame was not his thing. He was not one of the many flamboyant peacocks that strut around on our tellys today: he was a sociopath. Even in Catcher in the Rye, Holden expresses  his deep hatred of Hollywood and its actors. An author's narrator usually reflects the opinion of the writer himself. This is probably the case in this scenario.  If it was me, I might have done the same thing as Salinger. I am not a strutting peacock. Also, he only "wrote for himself." Perhaps he had not wanted to publish his works for a while before he did.
           I really don't know what to think about J.D. Before today, I thought he was a genius. Now, I think he is a maniac. He married someone 40 years younger than him, had affairs with people like Joyce Maynard, was put down by his daughter Margaret in her book about him, stayed secluded in Cornish, NH, and had an interesting history with women. But with his great works, he is OK.
            How was Catcher in the Rye viewed in the 1950's? It was received well, but had more critics than his other works put together. Libraries have and still ban the book because of its sexual allusions, language, smoking, etc. When John Lennon was shot, the shooter had the novel in his pocket, making many skittish with efforts to ban the book at school. Still, many high schools teach it.
               So, what about popular culture? An example of the novel affecting culture is this: screw up became much more popular after the book. Many movies also allude to the book (Salinger refused to let the book become a theatrical adaption).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cultural_references_to_the_novel_The_Catcher_in_the_Rye
http://www.shmoop.com/jd-salinger/recluse.html
http://www.amazon.com/review/R137WGUQSMZA5R/ref=cm_cr_pr_viewpnt#R137WGUQSMZA5R

Direction this Class Needs:12-12-2011

                 I am of the opinion that this class is absolutely fine, maybe even perfect. It's always a good period to dive into. I think the discussions are the most interesting, with trusty Christian, Sohrob, and Kirkland always weighing in with something. Mr. McCarthy also has to be my favorite English teacher. He is very astute and entertaining, and really knows how to set the ball rolling. Hmm, but Sohrob is right in his blog. Not many kids really participate. Just a small cluster, a minority, really. Perhaps they are (OK, we) are just shy. Or tired. Or overwhelmed. Sometimes, I am all three. I mean, yes, Mr. McCarthy does his best, but in a class of that size, how many kids can really be reached? The only regret I have about this class is that I do not participate as much as I should. Otherwise, this is probably my favorite class.

Some people harp on about changing their teacher's style to make the class better, but I disagree. Mr. McCarthy is the epitome of an English teacher. He is very smart, excellent at facilitating discussions and an all around cool teacher to know. He has pretty good taste in books (who doesn't like The Road?) He has certainly piqued my interest in critical thinking.

OK, maybe I am not really shedding the whole story. I sometimes feel incompetent in English.

Holden Caulfield: The Onion Returns

So, after over two weeks of reading Catcher in the Rye, what may be deduced about Holden Vitamin Caulfield? It may be concluded that he is an onion--just like the rest of us! Yes, with his many layers of complexity, he is an onion. He is a complex human being who constantly teeters from ingeniousness to insanity, just like other humans. He is not encapsulated by any one thing. He is a chromous, exotic flower that blooms at night. Holden Caulfield may be a cussing, indifferent seeming teenager, but he has layers that have not been accounted for: he is the catcher in the rye. He rescues and protects the innocence of children so they will not be indoctrinated by phonies. Everyone has strong opinions about something, and Holden has a strong opinion about phonies, fakes who hunt down the real people. Holden refuses to acknowledge he is a phony, though. He criticizes other people based on intricate details as well, like some of us. But he also has principles. He defends Jane and then is beaten to a pulp by Stradlater. That takes real dedication. He also loves like us humans. He is a bit over the moon for Jane Gallagher, always holding hands with her in a friendly way and kissing her when she cries. Holden, like the rest of us, fights battles that occur inside him, and his faults and talents are inextricably intertwined to each other.

My Red Hunting Hat (not really)

 Holden Caulfield's trademark item is his red hunting hat with flaps on the side and a cap on the front. He is extremely attractive (and warm) when he wears it backwards, something not everyone can pull off (well, not the former part anyway). My own version of Holden Caulfield's hat is my purple furry trooper hat (Hint: looks Russian), which I lost last year. If I can recall accurately, that hat was like my shield (it protected me from the blizzard of 2011--I survived). I believe I lost it after the blizzard. So what happened was the hat gave me insight (I think better with it on, like Holden) and instead of just going home (I was on the 126 when the blizzard commenced), I did something I thought of as bold and heroic (even though I nearly froze the next day)-- I went with my best friend Khaalia to her house, which was around a mile from mine. We transferred to the next bus alright, albeit me almost being blown off the sidewalk trying to get on. It's when we left downtown that things soured. My hat's magical powers were obviously wearing off (for my friend and I would be like the hunted deer, not the hunters), because our bus broke down in the street. We transferred into another bus (tightest fit ever- were were packed like sardines) and we shacked up in Khaalia's house for the night. With my lucky hat, I was able to go home the next day, although I had to wait half an hour for my bus. Holden's hat made him stand out, and mine did as well. I was one of the few I saw wearing that kind of hat all winter.

11/25 Blog: Thankful for a Classmate

           For this blog, I decided to stray from the norm a little bit. I think there is no one person that makes this English II class dramatically better and more interesting than my other classes. It requires a mixture of different people from different places. I'd have to say that Kirkland Buchanan is definitely one VERY interesting person in our English class. With him in the mix, the class discussions immediately become more flavored. It is always interesting to hear what he has to say, even if I am at odds with him most of the time (albeit silently). But in our class, it is usually Kirkland who sets the ball rolling. Not all the time, though. There is also Sohrob Moslehi, who I am also often at odds with due to his controversial claims on religion. I am rather in awe of him and others, however. I had never saw a brain that could connect the dots so quickly (OK, except for Christian Cattan, who also has much to bring to the table of class discussions). Behind the scenes is my good classmate and locker partner Zainab Abdullah, who can always show me the other side of the story. It is also very nice to have Shaponi Nalls and Kionis Watts in my class. They always crack me up, in a good way of course. Of course, there are others in the class I would like to acknowledge, but for the sake of length, the blog stops here. Happy Thanksgiving!

The Road (by Cormac McCarthy): Commentary on Death (11-4-11)

       Death is a recurring theme in The Road. The topic itself is explored numerous times, with people constantly threatened with it in various instances throughout the award-winning novel (people struggle to survive in a post-apocalyptic scenario, pitted against the forces of cannibalism, starvation, exposure to disease, etc.) A good example of this is when the father and son deliberately avoid the men in the truck, who they know are cannibals. They care more about their own survival than interacting with other people. This survivalistic situation that occurs throughout the book makes the father suspicious of most humans they encounter, and leads them to avoiding taking risks with other human beings. The son and the father also frequently discuss death, actually based off of frequent conversations the author had with his own son.

So, why even bother to include death in the story, when thousands of authors never bother to address the topic in their books? Well, McCarthy answered the question in a New York Times interview in 1992, saying "(he only cares for writers who) deal with issues of life and death." He also says: "if it doesn't concern life and death, it's not interesting." These may not seem like adequate answers to the question, but the author tends to have an underlying meaning under every statement he makes. We can make an educated guess and assert that he meant that death is such an important issue that it makes more sense to address it than not to address it. This may help explain why McCarthy puts such an emphasis on a topic other authors have tread carefully around. Perhaps another reason why he addresses an issue is that it is taboo to discuss it in many societies today. Maybe he challenges this unspoken rule that people cannot speak of death, which they fear but attempt to ignore. Perhaps he brings up death simply to remind us how crucial it is to everyone. But with him being a member of Mensa, he probably used death as a theme for all of these reasons.