Physical Description of Michael

Michael has a very college-like look about him. Standing tall at what I would say a little over six feet, he dresses well enough in clothes that fit perfectly and typically wears a baseball cap backwards. It's perfect, really, that he should look as he does. He tells me that he is a member of Ohio University's Student Senate, an organization I know so little about. But just the name should imply a certain look about him; one of professionalism and calmness. He manages to maintain this whether he be walking around campus or sitting in Alden, watching me scribble notes on whatever he says. Michael is able to sit motionless, a skill I admire, which is something that surprises me given the extra stress he must endure from being a student, working at his job and participating in numerous groups on campus.

He's built like an athlete, a form he says he acquired in high school. Even so, everything about his face says that he is one of the most friendly types of people you can meet. He has a long smile, not afraid to show off purely white teeth. His eyes squint up a little whenever he does so, and his forehead shifts forward a bit revealing a tiny amount of brownish-blond hair. His features scream the word 'charisma', which is a trait I imagine comes off as very important to him.

"The American Male at Age Ten"

The primary trait that makes this essay stand out to me is the relatively familiar childlike innocence that Susan Orlean manages to capture so brilliantly. When you're ten years old, it's easy to imagine marrying someone and leading a life of joy and prosperity. Something that is interesting is that she mixes adult language and childlike language in a unique manner. For example, in the first paragraph, she writes: "We wouldn't have sex, but we would have crushes on each other and, magically, babies would appear in our home." Obviously a ten year old is too young to be thinking about having/not having sex (or so we'd all like to hope, anyway), so we see her current self commenting alongside her child self, who believes that babies are a natural product of two people liking each other. Little details like that help give the essay character, and it keeps it from becoming too mundane and bogged down in its own potential innocence.

On the Spider

The spider descends from his web-in-progress, down from a two-piece light fixture on the ceiling of my basement. I have learned it over the past few days: how it moves, what it eats. It is terrifying, like a quick and concise nightmare that wastes no time creating a jump scare that leaves you shaking and sweating. The spider knows me as nothing more than a creature it cannot catch, yet I "know" it as a clear and present danger. The spider is often killed simply for being a spider, an attribute it cannot help. It is remarkable how easily we are able to stomp out an arachnid with no remorse. Perhaps even more remarkable is my aim with the Nerf gun that I use to take its life. We cannot share a room at any time. Not when he has that vantage point.

Response to Essays

Emily Free's "I Am Not A Vegetable" and Virginia Woolf's "The Death of the Moth" seem like they could work together fairly well. Emily's essay gives off repeated feelings of conflict and anxiety that occurs as a result of perhaps results from the over-analyzing of a situation. Woolf's does some of the same, especially in the beginning, as she says that those moths that fly during the day "are not properly to be called moths" because they don't "excite pleasant senses". She still admits that she notices the moths are content with their lives, however. It is the acute yet somewhat unusual attention to details that drive both essays.

"In Nebraska" Response

The opening of Ted Kooser's "In Nebraska" is stunning, characterized by unique and wonderful metaphors that provide the most accurate descriptions of the mundane one can imagine. For example, describing clouds as "dump wads of fabric torn from the hem of the mountains" evokes a feeling of mystery and awe-inspired wonder, perhaps reminiscent of an younger period in all of our lives relating to when a cloud very well could have been that piece of fabric torn from a mountain.

The description of the land itself also paints a vivid visual image of Nebraska. From the "scratches" in the ground caused by wagons to the grass not being able to hide the wear and tear of the harsh weather that occurs in the area. The contrast between new and old is also presented in a way that is as jarring to us, the readers, as it is to Kooser. He writes of almost ghastly scenes, such as how "the young mother was buries and left in a grave marked only by the seat of a broken chair". This, compared to common things we see today such as twelve-story banks and insurance agents with briefcases, has a great effect.

On South Bass

“I’m not climbing up those stairs,” Justin told me. It was mid-July, and we weren’t dressed for the heat.

“You silly bastard,” I replied. “You’re going up there. I want to see what everything looks like.”

We were on South Bass Island, visiting the small village of Put-in-Bay, Ohio. It was a place I hadn’t heard of until two days prior, but being that we were poised to be in the Cleveland-Sandusky region for a few days, I was definitely interested.

While my buddy Justin had already been there once (or twice; I don’t remember what he told me), I finally had convinced him to take the elevator up the Perry’s Victory and International Peace Memorial. After all, it’s the world’s largest Doric column, which means something, I suppose. His hesitance was brought on by a small few of three or so dollars that would be required to ascend. I must have spent ten minutes fishing around my pockets for quarters to help him out. He was already agitated because we made him pay for the rented golf cart we were driving around the island, so looking back, I guess I understand.

The ride up was awful. The elevator was tiny and packed with the most tourist-looking people on the planet. It smelled terrible too, some mix between the sweat and the elevator’s unique smell itself. A “park ranger”, as they called themselves, was on-board, spouting off facts about the Memorial itself.

Once at the top, you could see the whole island, which looked significantly smaller than it felt as we drove around. You could see mainland Ohio (it looked ugly compared to the island, in case you were wondering) and various other islands in every direction.

“Damn dude,” I said, turning to Justin. “I want to live here someday. It can’t be that expensive, right? What do you think? Few million for a house?”

He was preoccupied with another “park ranger” at the time.

“Do you have guns,” he asked.

“No, we’re not allowed to carry guns.” The ranger was visibly nervous.

“So I could hold everyone up here hostage, right,” he replied.

Everyone else (including myself, of course) thought it was funny, at least. The ranger sort of laughed it off, and I figured that he got this kind of thing all day, being that the island is a hot-spot for people our age.

After about ten minutes and numerous threats from Justin (“I’m going to throw this kid over the edge! If only you had a gun to stop me!”), we finally descended. He promptly raced out the back of the building, jumped in the golf cart and took off without me. And by took off without me, I mean that I jumped in front and he hit me with it.

We have plans to go back this summer. I’ll be sure to make him climb the stairs, ride the elevator and endure the suffering again. I think my excuse will be that I forgot exactly what it looks like.

Two Hot Weeks in August and Muskgrass Chara

Ryan Hoke’s “Two Hot Weeks in August” and Kathleen Dean Moore’s piece “Muskgrass Chara” go incredibly well together, so much so that it feels like a happy accident that we are tasked with reading both on the same day. The primary feeling at play here is the use of sensory description, which, while generally limited to smell in Moore’s piece, is still prevalent enough to make sensory feeling the main idea. Ryan delves into smell a bit in the beginning (“the smell of freshly cut grass welcomes you as you arrive”) but uses other senses to help the essay live up to its name. The feeling of the humidity and pain is especially prominent. I prefer Ryan’s due to him not only focusing on one sense but trying to include all of them in a way that isn’t immediately obvious.