Burn Baby Burn (Disco Inferno)

Since the dawn of time, the one aspect to separate man from other beasts has been his ability to create fire. Only we have been able to warm ourselves without fear of the looming night. Fire has been worshiped, associated with the demoniacal, and even used as a war-tool. What has caused such utility and myth from a seemingly simple energy? I say it is because a true, perfect fire is more an art of architecture and passion than simply a means to warm oneself.
We've all known since second grade what goes in to making a fire; all you need is air, a heat source, and fuel, right? But there's a lot more to making a decent fire than just this simple formula; the art of fire making consists of so much more.
To begin with, one must pay attention to his air. The only part of air that a fire needs to flame is oxygen, which is only about twenty percent of the total atmosphere here at the surface. A good fire needs to have a constant supply of this oxygen, and since heat rises, and with it flame, the best place to have the air is underneath the actual fire, so it may be siphoned up by the flame. It also mustn't be too windy, especially when first starting the fire, for it may easily be blown out.
Above our air shall be our heat source. The best readily available to most fire-lighters is a box of kitchen matches; however, if you feel like returning to your roots, rubbing two sticks together is the way to go. In both cases, the friction caused striking or rubbing is our heat source, almost always resulting in a small flame. Then all that is needed is application of the small match (or pair of sticks) to a well-built kindling/tinder matrix.
This brings us to our fuel source to which our heat shall be applied. The fuel source must be carbon-based. As said before it is best to have a space for air underneath the fire, which can be accomplished by having a pair of small logs spaced a foot or so apart to hold up what will actually be burning. Running perpendicularly to the logs should be a few small sticks, no more than an inch in diameter each, spaced evenly across the logs. Then should come the most easily light-able carbon-based fuel available. The best, in my opinion, is a paper product, crumpled or tied into knots, but dry bark, cardboard, or leaves may also work. Atop this should be another, denser layer of sticks, and finally one or two medium-sized logs, about two to three inches in diameter, running parallel one another.
And so you have created the best fire. You have joined the ranks of innumerable generations to have warmed themselves using their own grit and determination to set themselves apart from the other beasts.

Armed men

The Victorian Age was a time of movment of thought from Romanticism. At this time, unlike the prior Romantic Age, literature and philosophy became rather balanced, neither purely rational and logical nor romantic and emotional, but both. The great playwright of this time, George Bernard Shaw, reputedly second only to Shakespeare in his English dramatic ability, emphasizes this point in his Arms and the Man, a comedy about two soldiers from opposing factions and ideologies, and their connection through one girl of age twenty-three. In this play, Shaw makes it clear that the better ideology is that of a logical thinking Rationale.
When first we meet Bluntschli, a Swiss soldier-for-hire working for the Serbians, he is fleeing a lost battle and has evaded capture through escaping up a drain-pipe into the bedchamber of young Raina, fiancé to the Bulgarian officer Sergius. Bluntschli, known at this point only as “The Man,” enters the room to find Raina; the two enter into conversation concerning the war and its tragedies. Bluntschli, a seasoned soldier, tells the girl why he had run instead of romantically dying as one could see a more emotional man doing. He fled to live another day, carries no rounds for his pistol but as much food as he comes by, as his priorities are survival and marginal comfort as opposed to glory in the heat of battle.
Conversely, Raina’s fiancé, Sergius, who led the charge which disbanded Bluntschli’s regiment, is a very Romantic character. He charged into battle, which would have been the end of him had the opposition had the correct cartridges for their guns. He returns to Raina’s home when peace is agreed upon, and, having decided he is not a proper soldier, decides to pursue another career. Upon meeting Bluntschli and learning of his bedchamber antics with his fiancé, Sergius challenges the man to a battle of swordplay, which the Swiss agrees upon, only because he expects a quick, easy victory, as his skills are much greater than Sergius’. The idea of settling a problem with an out-dated fight-to-the-death is indubitably Romantic.
As the play nears its close, Raina is faced with the choice of two men to marry, one of which, Sergius, she is married to but can no longer stand, the other, Bluntschli, the practical soldier who, unbeknownst to Raina, swept her off her feet. At the conclusion, Raina and Sergius agree to not marry, as they are not suited for each other, as Raina herself was a rather rational thinking non-Romantic. Sergius then asks Raina’s maid Louka, a girl with Romantic high-hopes, for her hand, and Bluntschi asks for Raina’s.
Although all characters involved turn out happily ever after, Shaw makes it clear that the Romantic viewpoint is a rather frivolous one. Rational-thinking Bluntschli is portrayed as wiser and even counsels Sergius as to the duties of his office. Unfortunately for some, Shaw’s beliefs on the matter didn’t last, as the following Age returned to the idea that Romanticism was superior.

Frankly, Stein, I don't trust your monster.

The story of Frankenstein has been retold through all generations since its conception by Romantic author Mary Shelley. Though many of the retellings may be rather watered down, the essentials always remain. The over-reaching scientist Victor Frankenstein succeeds in creating life through piecing together remains of the dead. His result is a humongous, intellectually superior, hulking being that is most disgusting to behold. His result is the Creature.
At his creation, the creature has only the mind of a newborn infant. According to Frankenstein, he is immeasurably disgusting to behold, with yellow, watery eyes and an evil grin. These appearances cause the young doctor to flee the scene of the creation, leaving the being with only a baby’s concept of reality to fend for itself.
Contrary to popular retellings, the creature of Victor Frankenstein’s design is not initially an evil being. He is shunned by his creator and by all mankind that encounters him, and he is driven to murder through spite and deep depression. He grows in intellect for a few years before his string of murders begins, during which time he learns right from wrong, language, and family values, among other things. These were learnt while hiding in a lean-to behind a small family’s modest home. When he finally reveals himself to these kind-hearted people, he is beaten away, but interestingly, the creature does not retaliate, despite his ability to destroy whomever he pleases with his brute strength. This shows that he feels compassion for those he felt he grew close to, even though they did not accept him.
The creature flees, and happens upon his first victim, coincidentally Frankenstein’s younger brother. The boy tries to flee the beast out of fear, and the creature accidentally strangles the child while trying to hush him. This is the first “murder” committed by the creature, and it seems that it was entirely unintentional, considering the creature did not know his own strength compared to the boy’s. Later, though, the creature learns that this child was in fact Frankenstein’s younger brother, and he feels anger toward the doctor. Frankenstein feels guilt for the death of his brother and following deaths, and it is later learned that his creature does also.
The creature probably could not have made it in any human society, based on how he brought repulsion from all who saw him. He would be seen as a demon or a freak show and would be chastised wherever he ventured, as he was throughout the novel. While his character, especially at the beginning of his intellectual life, is rather honorable, it is doubtful that any human being would remain long enough to see beyond his physical attributes.
Some sympathy can be felt for the creature, despite his killings of so many dear to his creator. He was abandoned by the one who should have loved him unconditionally, his maker Frankenstein, and forced to survive in a world that would not accept him. While he did not feel any moral responsibilities at the time for killing some of his victims, at the end of the book he does express his regret for his part in destroying life. All in all, the creature does have many human characteristics, despite his being not explicitly of that species.
Mary Shelley may not have meant for her masterpiece to become a reflection on human interaction and acceptance, but it could possibly be interpreted as one. Both Frankenstein and his creature are outcasts to some degree, and such a treatise on looking beyond one’s physical appearance to the character of one’s heart is valuable to society.

Hats

It is undeniable that clothing choice is one of the ways that we as humans proclaim our singularity. There are as many different personalities in this world as there are styles and combinations of clothing. It is true that most articles of clothing are necessary for social acceptance (no shirt, no shoes, no service); therefore, it is in the choice of those articles of clothing which are “un-necessities” that our true personalities can be seen. In America, the Hat, which rests just above the window to the soul, is probably the most unnecessary article of clothing needed to show the world who we are.
There are a number of different types of people who wear hats befitting their type. Firstly is the ball-cap-wearing sports fan. Often male, this person insists upon “bending the bill” of his ball cap, which always will have the brand of his favorite athletic team, along with that team’s colors quite evident on the fedora. The brim of the hat serves two purposes: to keep the blazing sun out of the person’s face while attending a ballgame, and to tunnel-vision the person’s eyes on his favorite player.
In hat-familial terms, the cousin of the ball cap is the punk cap. This type of hat is very similar is construction to the ball cap, but is worn by a very different type of person. The punk tries to “go against the grain,” often for the mere attention gained, and always tries to undermine authority. His hat reflects these feelings. The brim is always off kilter and is very vibrantly colored.
Originally, the beanie was meant to keep the head warm in the below-comfortable temperatures. In covering the ears twofold, the beanie is well-suited to its intention, and retains heat through a simple system of insulation. While now it is worn for personal identity, its initial meaning has not been lost, for it is worn by pastime-outdoorsmen. Skiers, bikers, and hunters everywhere can be seen employing the beanie. All intend to keep their heads warm in style.
The golfer’s hat (or gentleman’s cap) is the symbol of white-collarity in the hat world. It is the hat that all self-respecting businessmen aspire to wear. The hat’s design employs the brim to keep the elements off the face, with optional ear-flaps that can be turned down for the worst of weather. It therefore combines the utility of both the ball-cap and the beanie while producing something completely different in construction.
The hat defines us. Our preference shows the world our views on style and modesty. Woe be to those who wear no hat, who hide their true selves from the world. Just as the eyes are the window to the soul, also the hat is the quirky roof of the soul.

Holidays

Every November and December, across the nation, it is the same: each kid eagerly anticipates the coming school break warranted to him by either the Pilgrims or Christ. Children count the days to the end of the month, be it November or December, and become increasingly excited. Throughout my childhood, every Thanksgiving has been the same and every Christmas has been, too.
On the last Thursday of November, every year, I am awakened by my elder brother Steve. He enters my room and beats on my drum set until I throw an object at him. I proceed to get up grudgingly and shower. Upstairs I go to breakfast on Chex Mix and, if it hasn’t already been done, switch on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It stays on all day, even if it’s not being watched. At three o’clock the turkey is always unexpectedly done early, and there is a mad dash to make potatoes, yams, and cranberry sauce. The dinner is enjoyed, despite disputes over table land-usage rights (my left-handed brother sits to my right, and elbows are always bumped), and I sleep off my turkey/sparkling grape juice high during back-to-back college football games. Finally, Christmas lists are discussed.
On the twenty-fifth of December, of every year, I am again awakened by my brother’s poundings. I shower and am greeted by the smell of sausage and egg casserole, which everybody has already partaken of, excluding my second brother David, who is still sleeping. A Yule fire is lit in the living room, and eventually everyone is gathered there. Our entertainment for this morning is the opening of packages, one by one. At three o’clock, the turkey is always unexpectedly done early, and there is a mad dash to make potatoes, yams, and cranberry sauce. The dinner disputes recur, and I nap to reruns of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Finally, birthday lists are discussed.
This is how all thirty-five of my past Thanksgiving/Christmases have passed, and yet, the holidays never seem to grow old. In recent history, these two events, along with Easter, are the only days our entire family is assembled in one place, and despite the few arguments that transpire, these days are magical. Stories remembering our respective childhoods are told, and again we live as a family. Without everything as it always is, these holidays would seem less legitimate.

Follow the Leader

The world is full of leaders; Presidents, Queens, Mayors, School Superintendents, Clergy. Obviously there are many attributes shared by great people which make them leaders, but to me, the necessary characteristic for true leadership is having a knowledge of those who follow a leader and of those who are superior in status to a leader. Prime examples of this are State Representatives who know the people they represent and understand their needs, but also understand the political context in which proposals must be promoted in order to address their followers’ needs.

For me, as a high school senior, this means learning what makes my peers and underclassmen “tick” and what they truly desire, along with having a firm understanding of my teachers’ characters, likes and dislikes. It also means that I must be the best I can be in my classes and in my studies. Unless leaders know those they are leading, they are not truly leading properly. It is more than winning a popularity contest or boasting of accomplishments that defines a leader; it is one’s character and understanding of human nature in general as well as an intimate knowledge of the specific goals, needs, and aspirations of their followers.

I practice the characteristic of knowledgeable leadership through spending time with those I lead, whether on the soccer field where I am a team captain, or in the classroom, where I am willing to help students whenever I can, such as answering a quick Spanish conjugation question or spending time going over a calculus problem with my friends. I enjoy my role as a group leader of my peers in our Bible class where I lead the group in discussion and question-answering. At the start of my eighth grade year my class was scheduled to take algebra one-half as our math class; I proposed to our math teacher that I felt our class could handle the algebra I curriculum. Our math teacher was persuaded to allow our class to enroll in the more advanced class. Within a week, 85% of my class opted to take the harder course. As a result of the change, many of our class members are now taking calculus II rather than calculus I, and consequently, we are more prepared for college.

Another necessity of knowledgeable leadership is an aspiration toward scholastic achievement. One must know what is going on in the world and how things work in order that he or she may be able to understand how to serve their followers completely. I attempt to attain this goal through attention to my schoolwork and setting high goals for my grades. I am on the High Honor roll with nearly a 4.0 Grade Point Average. I have also taken initiative through completing two college courses at Mansfield University, one the summer before my junior year and one before my senior year in high school.

Being a leader requires much of a person. Self-sacrifice and a strong sense of moral ethics are important characteristics of true leaders; a principled leader inspires a higher plane of morality through his example, words, and teachings. But to be a successful leader, a high measure of knowledge about one’s followers and the world is essential.

Psh!

I wake up. I go to the bathroom next to my bedroom and take a fourteen minute shower, dress in the outfit I had chosen a week before, go upstairs and drink a glass of grapefruit juice. I speak with my parents about my day’s activities and go to Eddie’s restaurant with my father for breakfast. After visiting two banks and making other necessary errands, we return home and do chores.
Sounds like a typical Saturday morning for me. However, after finishing whatever chores I have, I drive the Subaru into the garage and bring out the vacuum cleaner. I vacuum the dashboard, take out all of the floor mats and beat them with a stick, vacuum the carpet, even the back seat.
Finished with the car, leaving it cleaner than it was when we bought it, I return to the bathroom and blanket myself in cologne and pose in the mirror. I sit down on the stairs and tie the laces of my pure white Converse Chuck Taylor All-Star High-Top “date shoes,” bid my parents farewell, start the newly cleaned car, and head north.
After forty-two minutes of driving I reach Elmira South Side and wait in the parking lot of the Pizza Hut where I was to meet my blind date, a date set up by one of my best friends and his girlfriend. I wait. And wait. And wait. After about forty-nine minutes of waiting (I had gotten there perhaps eighteen minutes early), I was a little nervous and decided to call my friend. He’s at the mall with his counterpart, and I tell him I would hopefully meet up with them as soon as my date arrived. After sixty-four minutes I call my date’s cell phone about six times, each time my phone telling me that there was a problem in connection. Frantically I re-call my friend, demanding answers from his girlfriend, the only human connection I have to my date. The only solace given is that her (my date’s) cell phone provider is an obscure company, and that’s probably why the connection issue exists.
After 117 minutes I decide to return home, finally realizing and accepting that I had been stood up. While driving home I wonder why I hadn’t checked inside the Pizza Hut; perhaps she had been waiting for me for 118 minutes in the restaurant. I don’t turn back, what’s done is done. All I can do is continue on with my life. That’s really all anyone can do.
I haven’t talked with Michaelyn since the night before the non-occurring date. I don’t really care to chase butterflies. Perhaps it’s better that it turned out this way; I certainly learned some very valuable life-lessons. I picked myself up after falling off of my metaphorical bicycle, and while I haven’t quite mastered two-wheeling, I’m well on my way.