It’s a name that brings people to all sorts of memory. From the well-known Ziggy Stardust to the more obscure Thin White Duke, Bowie has always been beyond this fickle Earth in his character and manner. Visionary is a word that is often misused, but Bowie had a vision that he could only express to us, never explain. That said, I am by no means a devout Bowian. His passing has, however, been directly connected to the mood of winter so far.
When I volunteered for the Thespian Freeze Out it was under the sincere impression that I wasn’t going to be going into the dunk tank. There were lots of people volunteering, and way better targets than me. I had no enemies that I knew of, and most of my friends were broke. What did I have to fear?
Chanse Ward and Eric Wakeman apparently, who, in an act of betrayal the likes of which I have never known, conspired against me to place more money in my jar than had any business being there.
Round 2, this time with the sweets and treats. I’ll save you the heavy introduction from Episode 1 and get right to the deliciousness. This week we’ll be making 3 relatively quick dishes: tiramisu, scones (straight from Nana), and fudge. These are home recipes, so they’re a bit vague. I like it though; if I spelled everything out for you, there’d be no spirit of discovery.
Who’s ready for good ol’ fashioned PSA, courtesy of Winter Break?
Game of Thrones tried to warn us. The delightfully macabre catchphrase of the show’s protagonist family, “Winter is coming”, is one that is meant to be taken as a warning— a reminder for constant vigilance because your enemies are around the corner. Out in the real world, winter is already here and instead of the beheaded patriarchs and medieval sass of Game of Thrones, our winter is a much craftier, silent enemy. It’s also a hell of a lot sadder.
In between shoveling plates full of homemade food into my mouth, I was totally holding my breath waiting for grades to come out. It’s like for five minutes you’re just purely grateful that finals are over and you can sleep for a solid nine hours without waking up in a pool of your own sweat while your subconscious screams at you for letting Dr. Mansfield down with your uselessness. That moment after you turn in the last final is literally nothing but pure exultation, as the hell you have been living in is finally at an end.
I am writing to you now at the end of battle before a final, decisive moment in my academia comes to pass. The war has been fought thoroughly with few casualties, but there are losses and gains that will be remembered for years to come. I bravely stepped into Dr. Kim's arena to fight my best, but was met with significant defeat that still stings. Yet, my close reading of "The Waste Land" stands as an astonishing breath of potential success. The final to match it, for Dr. Knickerbocker's closely reading poems course, was one that I feel great confidence about.
Treat boxes from Pizza Hut cannot be delivered on Thanksgiving. I found this out firsthand over the most recent break. It was a reprieve from the heart of a penultimate battle before the final exam storm would come. T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" demanded a close reading essay, as well as Poe's "City in the Sea". A preface for "Let Loose" was also due. As much as I enjoy apocalyptic poetry and stories about spectral hands choking people out, there was much to do. These essays represented the last skirmishes for the longest phase of a great war.