Midterm Evaluation, Pt. 3: Literary Editing and Publishing

Wanna read something different than this lame blog? I wrote the third and final part of my midterm evaluation for my blog on the American Studies Leipzig homepage. You can find it by following this link. Check it out, it features cartoons and a meme!

Tons of appreciation!

Midterm Evaluation, Pt. 2: Literary Theory

In part 1 of my midterm evaluation, I have told you about my class on Pop and High Culture of Twentieth Century America. And until now, I haven’t managed to address my two English classes which are equally interesting and maybe even a tad more relevant for my professional future. So here goes! Part 2, Literary Theory.

http://users.humboldt.edu/mseldridge/engl420/poser.jpg

     Those among my faithful and cherished readers who also know me outside of this blog (which might be 100%) already know about my fascination with literary/cultural/critical theory. I might already have lectured you once or twice about the importance and the great subversive potential of it, even if you were just asking to be nice and didn’t really care. Sorry. Anyway, one of my classes is called Literary Theory. Being taught by one of the coolest teachers in the history of teaching, this class is as entertaining as it is enlightening. In the beginning, it was often very interesting to read and discuss original essays by such fundamental writers as de Saussure, Barthes, Marx, Althusser, Freud, de Beauvoir, Foucault, or Said (those links are not Wikipedia entries! So check them out!), on concepts which I had already been introduced to back home at American Studies Leipzig. Here at OU, in Dr M.’s (her own suggestion) class, I think we’ve mostly dug at least a bit deeper than I previously could.

     Beyond that, we’ve also read and discussed some Lacan, Fanon, Kristeva, Mulvey, and Bhabha which was mostly new territory for me (heard the names, but that’s it). Oh, and we tried to make sense of Derrida. Différance. Didn’t quite succeed. Little surprise. There’s definitely a (quite logical) tendency that, the harder a text is—and some of them seem to deliberately refuse to make sense—the less we get out of them in class. When visiting Athens, Prof G. brought up the idea to just start a reading group to get deeper into the texts, and I liked it. Back in reality some hours later, though, I realized that there is too little time for that in the semester due to my other classes. So I guess after all, this class is just another of a few springboards into theory. I’ll have to do the swimming myself.

     Anyway—best part—there’s more to come! Cixous, Butler, Baudrillard (I already had a good thing going with this dude back at ASL!). Great stuff. It is an incredibly good thing to have a class that is devoted to cultural theory which is then applied to literature, movies, youtube videos, ads, and the websites of department stores. I even had to re-read Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, not necessarily one of my favorite reads. (Didn’t read the whole thing again, but psst!). And this class made me realize and appreciate the novel’s depth and ingenuity much more than when I first read it last year. All because I got my theory right. Midterms were quite a bit of work, and I had to look at a picture of toasted tarantula for minutes that felt like hours (because I discussed the ad’s use of Othering and exoticizing), but everything worked out just fine in the end. And the second half of the semester continues to be interesting. We’ve already watched My Life in Pink (Great Belgian movie!! Some weird scenes with weird animations, but good story, definitely worth watching if you’re interested in why you’re a girl or a boy!), and I’m looking forward to reading some Junot Diaz. Heard a lotta good things.

Spring Break 7: Salem and Boston, and back to Athens

>>>Challenge: Will you find the link to a beloved icon of the 80s in this?<<<

Here’s the somewhat late last account of my spring break experience. I’m deeply ashamed of my negligent behaviour. And I’ll probably catch up with some more posts.

Salem, MA

Leaving Concord, NH, on March 7, Julia and I drove to Salem, MA, to check out some history and witches. You know—Nathaniel Hawthorne, early colony, Salem Witch Trials of 1692—that stuff. We saw a pretty good documentary in the visitor center which, I think, belongs to the Salem Maritime National Historic Site. What I found pretty neat was to see the famous custom house that Nataniel Hawthorne worked in, and in which The Scarlet Letter’s frame narrative is set. (Didn’t see The House of the Seven Gables, though). However, back to the witch trials! The fact that people have been executed here in colonial times might today be the most relevant factor of the town’s economy. We were told that certain witch museums in Salem are more concerned with entertainment than history. So, a serious and cruel historical event like the Salem Witch Trials is the reason for which tourists (including the both of us) come to town and might then enjoy getting their fortunes told by a psychic, or shopping in a witchcraft store, or buying a small witch riding a broom to hang onto their cars’ rear view mirrors. Julia and I didn’t do those things, but maybe you get my point…In telling our histories, we often tend to heavily commercialize them. I became very aware of that in Salem, but it’s true for countless other places. When these histories are histories of suffering, intolerance, and persecution, I think it becomes problematical. To make a living by turning the rope into a keychain…I’ll keep thinking about that. If you are ever close by, visit Salem. It’s worth it, and maybe you’ll feel different than I did.

New England Holocaust Memorial

After Salem, we returned our rental car and visited Boston. One afternoon is too little time to seriously explore the city’s incredible amount of history, but we saw some interesting sights, churches and monuments. They’re everywhere. Here, the balance between telling actual history and marketing it seemed a bit more in favor of what actually happened. Boston also is home to the very impressive New England Holocaust Memorial. It’s basically a granite footpath with quotes and horrible historical numbers carved along the sides. But you also have to walk through six glass chambers (they are actually towers, felt kinda constrictive, though). And in writing 'glass chambers' I first realize how horribly close the written word brings me to what these things symbolize. You had to walk through a constantly emanating steam in these chambers. A somehow brilliantly strange quality of this monument is that it can shock you about your own behavior. Some people mistook the memorial for an art object without any historical reference when they took photos of their friends standing in front of it smiling, thumbs up, before they actually approached it and realized what horrors it commemorates.

Boston at Night

The next day, after saying good bye to Julia and Nicole (who would spend the week around Boston and NYC with Julia), I had to fly back to Columbus, OH. Getting there wasn’t too much of a hassle although my flight from Philly to Columbus was delayed because the crew was late (probably hangin’ out in a bar). But figuring out how to get from Columbus to Athens had given me a good amount of stress earlier because the couple of options I had had had not worked out (is that grammatically correct? I wanna risk it. Dear prospective employers, please notice my courage!). Luckily, however, so many OU students are wearing OU attire that I was able to identify two groups of people at the Philly airport as Bobcats. And the second group did actually drive back to Athens, and they still had a seat in their car. I was very very grateful for that. They might have prevented me from a night at the airport. But after the 1,600 miles that Julia and I had driven that week, this one-hour drive felt like an eternity. I needed a shower and my bed to get ready for the upcoming week.

Nostalgia

If anyone knows anything that is equally beautiful, emotional, raw, compelling, and brilliant as Jimmy Eat World between 1996 and 2001, please let me know.

Spring Break 6: New Hampshire’s Beautiful White Mountains

…And yes, the weather was indeed much better the next day! Blue skies, glaring sun. After breakfast, we drove a bit west towards the Crawford Notch State Park to see if we would find a trailhead leading to the Arethusa Falls. And we did, so we wrapped ourselves up many-layered onion style and started off into the woods. In contrast to yesterday’s short footslog in the late afternoon, this was a beautiful hike. The entire forest floor was covered with snow while previous winds must have swept all of it down from the leafless trees and dark green conifers.

Arethusa Falls

Ascending this trail wasn’t too easy (for me; Julia got along fine) because the snow was very slippery, and I had lost the rear parts of both my shoes’ soles already days ago, so there wasn’t much grip I could benefit from. And the trail was very steep at times. But we managed, and after about an hour’s hike up and sometimes downhill, we arrived at the completely frozen Arethusa Falls. A solid wall of ice, maybe 130x200 ft, they were much bigger, and especially wider, than I had expected. And very beautiful to behold.

An apple and some water for our hydrological balance, a muffin to gimme some sugar, and back we went down that trail. However, if going up was difficult with my shoes at times, going down proved to be impossible. So remembering our locomotive means at Old Man’s Cave, I just slid down many slopes, and carefully walked the rest. I even fell once or twice while just standing—a great source of pleasure for Julia. But also for me, to be honest.

The Presidential Range

Back in the car, we followed U.S. Route 302 northwest and could see mighty Mount Washington looming up to the east, its upper third covered in snow—a very impressive sight, especially compared to the day before when the fog had prevented us from seeing the summits of most mountains around us. Unfortunately, there was no affordable way up that mountain, so we had to content ourselves with the sight of it. Later, we caught some more remarkable views on the snow covered Presidential Range. We were also considering renting a snowmobile for an hour or two and drove into Gorham, NH, to check that out, but in the end decided that one hour would have been too short, and two hours too expensive. So after lunch we drove about 110 miles south, and in a bit more than two hours arrived at our motel in Concord, NH. In the evening, we went to a theater and watched American Hustle. Good movie! Good story, good acting.

Spring Break 5: New Hampshire's Gloomy White Mountains

Yesterday, I mentioned a fascination with wild, dark, gloomy, eerie sceneries. That fascination was confirmed when we drove through New Hampshire's White Mountains late on a very somber and foggy afternoon two days ago. 

Replica of an Old Mount Washington Weather Observatory

   We'd left Augusta, ME, early and arrived in the mountains before noon; the day was already very cold and drab, with thick clouds hanging deep in the grey sky. So we just checked out some lovely old fashioned (and I mean fashioned, not really truly vintage) stores and a weather and meteorology experience center in the town of North Conway. Mostly designed for children, it also entertained the two of us for a couple of minutes, and it was for free! One truly cool thing was their replica of an old weather observatory cabin that stood on the peak of Mount Washington, the most prominent mountain this side of the Mississippi (6,288 ft/1,917m). Pressing a button, you could trigger a simulation of a wind that developed into a horrifying storm rattling and shaking the counterfeit cabin. The peak of Mount Washington was actually the place with the highest wind speed ever measured until 2010 at an unbelievable maximum of 231 mph/372 km/h. So that commanded my deepest respect for those people who actually decided to spend some time under such conditions in the years past, and still today, although the new weather observatory looks much more sturdy than that old log cabin.

   In the afternoon, we did a micro hike to the completely frozen and snow covered Echo Lake at the foot of White Horse Ledge not too far outside town, and then drove north directly through the heart of the White Mountain National Forest. After a few miles we saw mighty mountain sides rising to the left and right, some sprinkled with trees, some covered with dark woods, while the descending fog completely veiled the summits from our sight. We could only guess that on our left we would be able to see the highest peaks of the Presidential Range under better conditions; Mount Washington, Mount Adams and Mount Jefferson. Once again, I felt reverence, deep respect and awe for nature. It's hard to be put in words when you sit tiredly in the lobby of a Boston hostel after such a week. Sorry.

   After one or two lazy hours in our room, we decided to attempt another short hike since the weather seemed to have cleared a little. So back up towards the Presidential Range we drove, and got off at a parking lot where we hoped to get to a frozen waterfall in a few minutes. The wood was dark already and the icy snow did not make walking any easier. But after a last very steep ascent after a short hike of maybe 15 minutes we arrived at that waterfall. Well. It might be there in the summer. What we saw was only a rocky wall with much snow, partly hidden by scraggy black trees. Not even the waterfall's ice was visible. Anyway, the journey is its own reward, right!? Well. This one wasn't exactly. Our friend Steffen might have referred to this short hike as a Gewaltmarsch, a somewhat forced march, or footslog. Maybe we felt like we had to make the best of the rest of that day that did not really allow for a lot of outdoors activity. It was almost dark when we started our short but fast-paced hike, and when we returned, darkness had entirely settled. However, we had a good dinner at a very nice Irish pub and decided to call it a day. We knew that tomorrow, the weather was supposed to be better. 

Spring Break 4: Acadia National Park

Driving into New Hampshire's state capital today, we've made our one thousandth mile! But, chronologically:

   The last post ended in Portland, ME. Leaving that city early on Tuesday, we drove about 150 miles, and more than three hours, northwest to get to Acadia National Park on Mount Desert Island, ME. The weather that day couldn't have been any better, clear blue skies under a glaring sun. Unfortunately, most trails and some roads are not accessible during the winter season, so Julia and I were kinda limited in what we could do. But still, what we saw of Mount Desert Island was very beautiful and impressive. Rugged coast, frozen lakes, deep woods, high mountains, and a lighthouse.

   Broadly speaking, we were circling the island in our car. There is a road that goes all around it, often very close to the coast, other times closer to Cadillac Mountain which dominates the 108 square miles big island at a maximum elevation of 1,528 feet. We occasionally stopped the car to walk a bit, and the best thing we came upon was the Sand Beach. A strip of sand no longer than, say, 1,500 feet, entirely devoid of snow, enclosed by rugged black rocks and lush conifers on either side, tall yellowish weeds behind it, and the incredibly blue and sparkling Atlantic ocean on the front. I had not expected to find that. We found some other nice spots and vistas, but not really on par with this beach. 

   It might have taken us one and a half or two hours to circle the island (after Long Island and before Martha's Vineyard, it's the second biggest island off the eastern seaboard!), and then we decided to at least give hiking a short shot, no longer than two hours, because it was already close to 4 p.m. So I asked a National Park employee, and she told us that we could hike a closed mountain road nearby for a bit to maybe catch some views on Mount Cadillac or the ocean. So we did that. It really wasn't the greatest hike since it is kinda boring to just walk a snow covered road between trees that block any view. On top of that, the sun had disappeared behind some murky fog, and the dusk seemed to settle in early. Oh, and it was getting very cold again. So we descended after 15 mins or so, and when the coast came back into view I became aware once more of how gloomy and threatening the ocean becomes in my imagination with dusk or bad weather. Interestingly enough, though, the fascination rises correspondingly. A calm blue sea on a sunny day is beautiful but it's boring as hell. It might be the appeal of the dangerous as long as you're safe yourself. I've often experienced a certain...longing just to know how it would feel to be out on a dark or raging sea in a small sloop all by myself only for a minute. At the same time, I know I'd be scared to death (because I'd actually be close to death!), and I'd have no idea what to do. I guess that's called romanticizing.

   However. We left Mount Desert Island at 5 p.m. and it was my turn to drive. We took the 120 mile long route to Augusta, ME, via the Interstate 95 to come a bit further north into the Maine woods. In this context, north means nothing. Had we had the time, and had we intended to go NORTH in Maine, we could have gone to Madawaska on the Canadian border. It would have taken us 265 miles and 5 hours. We might have seen some serious, actual woods then. I've read on a postcard that 80% of Maine is covered by woods! That's quite a bit. So even in that southern third of Maine that we saw, we rode through many miles of woods. And they are dark. I-95 after 7 p.m. felt quite a bit darker than what I've seen on the German Autobahn. There are none (or only very few) of these fancy black-and-white reflecting posts on the side. Therefore, many signs reminding you of the possibility that a moose could appear in front of you any time.

Next time, I'm gonna write about the White Mountains.

Spring Break 3: From Portsmouth, NH, to Portland, ME

Pffuuhh, two days no writing while driving up the coast of New England. Too much to make up for. We'll have to work with some summaries here. Leaving Seabrook, NH, on Sunday, we drove 15 miles into Portsmouth, NH. I guess Portsmouth is a nice town if you wanna see a mid-sized New England seaport. It has several large bridges (at least two of them lift bridges) spanning the Piscatasqua River which forms the natural border to the great state of Maine. We spent some time at the port and downtown where we found some interesting things:

These are gambling skeletons.

This is a beer ad.

The is a cupcake on a swing, with a cherry.

This is a fancy cake.

   

  

   The first place we visited in Maine was the Nubble Lighthouse at Cape Neddick. It sits on a tiny black rock island maybe 20 feet away from the mainland and even somewhat connected to it by a kind of ford made of washed up cobbles and and scree. The clouds hung deep in the sky and the day was very gloomy, so that the entire scene seemed kind of sombre and dismal, which is ,of course!, the perfect setting for a lighthouse. 

Nubble Lighthouse at Cape Neddick, Maine

   That evening, back in Portsmouth, we had some good seafood at The Common Man. The restaurant's interior seemed to be made more for less "common" people, like they'd cater more for the upper middle class. But it wasn't as pricey as it appeared, so we could feel like Russian oligarchs at a reasonable price.

   Getting up early again the next morning, we drove 26 miles north to Kennebunkport, ME (another nice, very small fishing and seaport town) and then farther up the coast for 44 miles until we came to Maine's largest city, Portland. See some scenes from that trip here:

   Portland is an interesting city. Had temperatures been above freezing, I'm sure it would have been what advertisers like to call 'vibrant.' Situated on and around a peninsula, Portland has dozens of wharves and docks. And you know how it is with such cities--not every building that used to house industry is still maintained for that purpose. Art seems to have found its way into Portland. Also great downtown redbrick buildings, old and new, fancy seafood restaurants and more affordable comfy pubs--Portland has em.

It even has--who woulda thought?--three segments of the Berlin wall! Oh, and, of course, lobster ads everywhere!

If I'll find the time to write tomorrow I'll address our trip from Portland to the Acadia National Park today. Four hour ride along a beautiful coast on a beautiful day. Then the Park with lots of snow, some summits, an incredible beach, and nice views on the blue Atlantic. And then three hours back west through Maine's hilly and thickly forested hinterland while the dark night creeps in, to the state capital Augusta. From here, tomorrow, we'll drive to New Hampshire's White Mountains.

Thanks for reading!

Spring Break 2: From Thoreau to Kerouac

Yesterday, after flying out of D.C. into Boston, I met Julia at the airport, and we picked up a neat black sedan at the rental car center. After about 20 mins, we stopped at a super market and, when returning to the car, we saw that the front bumper was badly torn on the passenger side. Nope, had not seen it before, and the car company said everything was all right. So I called em and drove back, and after filling out a form, we could pick another car which we inspected closer this time. Burgundy VW Passat. So, off again. We spent the night at an inn close to Saugus, just outside of Boston.

original site of Thoreau's cabin

   We got up early this morning and drove about 25 miles west to the Walden Pond State Reservation. This was one of those places which I've really wanted to see since we had planned to travel New England. Henry D. Thoreau's Walden was first published in 1850, and it is a collection of essays based on his two year residence in a self-built cabin on the shore of Walden Pond near Concord, Massachusetts. It is a tedious read at times, but Walden's importance for American intellectual history and the nature conservancy movement can hardly be overestimated. Aware of the fact that visiting the pond could not possibly bring me closer to feel or understand how Thoreau might have seen and appreciated it (as we sometimes wish such historic places would induce something in us), I was still eager to go there. Walden was completely frozen, and a guy was ice fishing on it. Apart from him and two joggers, though, we did not see any people. The advantage of the cold. On a snow-covered path among high slim conifers, we walked around half the pond, every now and then hearing the deep impressive bass of the cracking ice as the sun warmed it. Then, on a small hillside a minute away from the lake and into the woods, nine knee-high stones connected with an iron link chain marked the spot where Thoreau's cabin stood when he lived here. And it offered a nice view on the pond through the bare tree trunks. Then, going around the other half of the lake, we crossed the street and saw the replica of the cabin, not bigger than ten by ten feet, furnished with a stove, a simple bed, three chairs, and maybe (I don't exactly recall) a table or a desk. 

Walden Pond

"He Honored Life"

   From there, we drove another 23 miles northbound to Lowell, Massachusetts, birthplace and home of Jack Kerouac (1922-1969). Situated on the Merrimack River, Lowell was a planned cotton manufacturing and mill town, and the origins of the United States' industrial revolution can be found here. Thus, many historical buildings of the city are part of a National Historical Park. However, and you might know this, I wanted to visit Lowell especially because of Kerouac. We passed his high school, saw the Jack Kerouac Commemorative in Jack Kerouac Park, and visited his grave at Edson Cemetery. However, snow and ice prevented us from seeing the entire slab. But according to the NPS, it reads "Ti Jean, John L. Kerouac, Mar. 12, 1922 - 1969, - He Honored Life." He Honored Life. I like that.

Hampton Beach

   Leaving Lowell, we drove 33 miles east to the small coastal town of Newburyport, Massachusetts. Nice place with some cute cafes and shops, and the Thirsty Whale pub. Had a coffee, browsed some books, left town. 7 miles into Seabrook, New Hampshire to our current inn. Headed to Hampton Beach, contemplated the eerie nightfall Atlantic ocean, saw a dull salt marsh, bought a cheap used copy of the Tales from the Thousand and One Nights, and went back home.